Early Discovery
by V-rcingetorix
Summary: Humanity discovers the Prothean Ruins soon after the first Mars Colony. Discovery of alien life jumpstarts their space program ... and the saga begins. A series of cameos, covering approximately 50 years worth of various characters. Rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1: The Discovery

_In my research, I have found the original discoverer of the Prothean Ruins, that repository of data that jumpstarted our quest for the stars. Due to my enforced "retirement," I have taken it upon myself to adequately notate significant events throughout our history. As Lewis Carrol once wrote: Begin at the beginning, then continue to the end, then stop._

_If my guess is right, there will be a great deal of events before this story ends. It might not even be a story about me ... not since the Commander become so deeply involved. Regardless, here are a few of my notes on early Humanity._

_~Dr. Pavenmeyer, M.D., PHD, et al_

_Director: Project __Ragnarök _

* * *

Mars, aka, the Red Planet.

For millennia, humans knew Mars as a _planet_, one of the original wandering stars. Its lasting name came from the Romans who named the sullen-red guardian of the night skies after their god of war.

When Man began his trek to the stars, Mars held its position in the night sky just as it always had. Its crimson light drew humans as moths were to flame. It was both irresistibly beautiful, yet deadly. One of the questions asked most often by man was: did this planet hold life? The qualities of Mars were often measured against those of Mother Earth: atmosphere, heat and water being chief among them.

Assuming it was a dead planet was not wrong … just too late.

The Martian mesas of the _Argyre Planitia_ region were abraded in a fashion reminiscent of the driest deserts on Earth. They resembled the ancient Sphinx, in two ways; the first similarity was in how both the mesas and the Sphinx were proof that liquid water had once existed, the second similarity was that the only evidence for water was in the rock, liquid water itself had never been found outside of an environmentally-controlled colony dome.

Matea Silva felt like the only person on the planet…even though she knew perfectly well that there were at least another eight hundred back in the colony, plus another dozen in the base camp. Still, even with those memories of civilization, going on an extra-vehicular walk made her feel so…alone. Like something was out there…watching. It was ridiculous, the planet had been under intense scrutiny since even before the first colony; nothing but a few odd spots existed. But then again, those un-explained locations were why she was on her walk, to see what caused such…oddities.

Her sensors chirped, stating that, to its digital satisfaction, all was well. She headed back south towards her rover, signing the log report in disappointment. She had been so _certain_ this had been the epicenter of the oddities ….

The projection tool chirped again.

_What_?

It chirped again with a slightly more energetic tone, explaining in the patient, methodical way only machines or the highly dedicated could attain, that her perceptions were incorrect. According to its readings, she was facing north. To be more specific, it was convinced that one of the more significant magnetic poles had shifted position, and was now half a kilometer to her left. That was impossible.

Unlike Earth, Mars had no true "magnetic poles." Magnetic poles were the result of a liquid metal core, flowing in the strange ways that induced magnetic fields, Van Allen belts and tectonic shifting. Mars had once possessed such a core, but it had been off-center. Ergo, there was no magnetic north, just a series of heavily magnetized regions in the southern hemisphere. One of the first missions for the ancient Mars Global Surveyor missions had mapped those regions, granting the colonists a ready-made "orient" for their mapping endeavors.

Quickly, she pulled out a stake, and started hammering it into the red soil. It took some effort, both because of the suit she wore and the millennia this ground had spent being baked and sandblasted. This was not a sandy northern desert region, but one of the southern rocky plateaus. A few more blows drove the first stake home, and she started a second stake, lined in the same direction as the flux point. Once the second stake was punished to her satisfaction, she affixed a third stake to the previous pair with two quick welds, pointing a crude, makeshift arrow at her goal. Should something happen to her, or if she had to come back later, these stakes would leave a trail of her footsteps. And it would give her wiggle-room to ask for credit, should she not make the actual discovery…should there actually be something out there to discover.

Off in the distance, a sandstorm seemed to be brewing. Sand wasn't restricted by an atmosphere here like it was on Earth. When a dust storm erupted on Mars, the sand could fly over 100 kilometers skywards. From that distance, a storm could be seen by the naked eye from within 80 kilometers…just enough time to reach shelter considering the fierce, unearthly winds. She didn't have much time…but still…she looked at the magnetic resonance device. The source of the distortion to the magnetic was less than half a klick away. If she squinted, she could see the edge of the plateau…also around half a klick away.

Making a decision, she rushed to the rover. It beeped to life, somehow underwhelming to a woman who had grown up on the throaty rumble of vehicles back on Earth. The rover responded well, though, and shuddered over the bumpy terrain towards the source.

The storm was a lot closer than she'd estimated. It had nearly caught up to her, wind howled around the edges her rover, as she reached the edge of the mesa. The dust obscured her vision, but the rover's instruments depicted a gentle incline sloping towards a cave entrance a short distance down the edge of the plateau.

She followed the decline towards the cave, the vanguard of the storm screaming around her. As the slope led her downwards, the plateau she'd been exploring blocked both the wind and light. The wind still tugged at the walls of her vehicle, but it wasn't as fierce as it had been.

About a third of a kilometer down, she saw a cave entrance. Unlike every other cave she'd seen on Mars, this one had a perfect, concave arch and straight posts. As she approached, her professional opinion became certain this feature was unnatural. The…doors sliding apart to allow her entrance kinda' gave it away.

She hesitated for a heartbeat, then allowed momentum to carry her between the doors. She was now inside the plateau.

She brought the rover to a halt, thankful for the sudden silence. Then she saw the lights. They drew her out of the rover, leading her down the hall.

On either side of the tunnel, blue lights slowly glowed to life, fading as she passed. Strange geometric patterns wrote themselves across the floor, changing with every step she took. The rasping of the coarse material in her environment suit seemed almost sacrilegious in this place.

A heartbeat and an eternity later, the tunnel widened into a true cavern. The walls reflected light with a sheen like diamond, reflecting and refracting in odd ways. The blue lighting under her feet faded, reappearing in angular formations near the walls.

Ms. Silva couldn't remember how much time she spent staring at the walls. She had examined the records; the region over her head had been explored before, by multiple teams. How could they have missed this?

_Unless_, she thought, _the other teams never reached this part?_ That made sense. Standard survey techniques encouraged the exploration of maximum territory in a minimal time frame. A small side path was easy to miss.

Then, she noticed a pair of large objects at the far end of the cavern she'd just entered. They were massive … each larger than the rover she'd ridden. They also looked strangely aerodynamic…as though they were _designed_ to fly ….

With a start, she remembered her recording equipment. This was something that _definitely_ needed to be studied.

She fired up the digital recorder, best friend to archaeologists and journalists alike, and flicked the settings to highest resolution. No matter how many terabytes it took, this was worth it.

"Today is April 7th, 2112." She began. "My name is Matea Silva; I am a geologist and amateur archaeologist, working in the western quarter of the _Argyre Planitia_. I do not believe anyone else has explored this area before … according to the search logs…so this is not man made."

As she spoke, she played the lens around the cavern in a complete 360 rotation. She made sure to zoom in on the mysterious hulks looming in the darkness, they seemed to exude an air of amusement at her primitive presence.

She suppressed a shiver from the camera. The fear of the unknown had driven Man to new heights, and those unknown fears had been native to Earth. This unknown…it proved humans were not alone in the galaxy … not anymore.

* * *

**A/N: And we're off!**

**I will be updating once a week (hopefully), and will answer reviews/PM's as best as I can. I'm shooting for around 5,000 words per chapter, but the first two will be, by necessity, fairly short.**

**A huge thank you to Nightstride for both his beta assistance and his technical wizardry; he is a master of grammar. If this were the Dark Ages, he would be in danger of being accused of mastering _gramayre_, lol.**

**Another thanks to WolfStar888 for his input; creativity seems to run in his veins.**

**Both of these fine fellows have written excellent fanfictions, check them out if you have time!**

**Thank you, and see you next week!**

**6/22/2014: Updated grammar**

**6/27/2014: Updated spelling**

**7/22/2014: date shift, caught by cellestar, thanks man!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Williams

_What do you do, when the world stops making sense? Where do go, when you don't know your direction?_ Such questions divide those who rise to challenges from those who fall under history's unending tread.

* * *

Earth

2113

Richard knelt by his bed, hands folded. The news of intelligent life outside of humanity had been … _earthshattering_. To say the least.

Newspapers lay scattered around his room, folded to various headlines.

"Aliens Watching Earth?" Dominated the beginnings of one headline.

"Humanity No Longer Alone!" Ruled another headline.

A smaller paper lay next to him, by his knees. It was dog-eared, creased with many folds. Much smaller print than the attention-grabbing headlines spelled out a new title, circled with ink and question marks. It wasn't written in a particularly strenuous fashion even. It still held deep implications.

"Intelligent Life = No Creator?"

The ramifications for religions worldwide had been obvious. Half of the African continent alone had erupted in riots. Exactly what the riots were attempting to accomplish was up for debate, but he knew the cause was easy to find. The protestors in Egypt had been carrying signs with catchphrases like, _"Lies from the Skies!"_ and _"Praise Allah, Curse the West!"_

Richard clenched his fingers, turning the knuckles white. _What is happening? All I knew … gone. If I can't believe my faith … what is there to trust?_

He shifted position, trying to understand. Cold sweat stained his collar … he hadn't changed since coming home from the Pentagon. The entire staff had been working unpaid overtime ever since the discovery had broken out. There had been no time for personal thoughts; existential crises had been put on hold. At least, as so far as people had been able.

"Daddy?" a small voice called from the entrance of the dark room.

Richard sighed and rose to his feet. Joints popped as he eased his way towards the door. _I should get back into my routine, he gave a resigned thought. Not like there's anything else out there for me to do._

His daughter was perceptive though. "What's wrong, daddy?" she asked.

Richard smiled down at her. Stooping, he scooped her into his arms, giving her the little toss that made her giggle every time. "Nothing, Annie. Just some grown-up things you don't need to worry about." He gently mussed her hair, supporting her weight with one arm.

"Oh," Annie shrugged away the question. "Then can I ask you something?"

"Sure pumpkin," Richard walked slowly into the hallway. "Is it a big question or a small one?"

Annie scrunched up her face, thinking. "It's a big question," she finally decided.

"Oh …" Richard took longer steps, speeding up without jostling his precious cargo. "Then why don't we take this to my study where we won't be interrupted?"

"Okay daddy." Annie smiled up at him with the same heart-warming grin she'd always had. When she'd been born seven years earlier, he'd been glad his heart had already been claimed by her mother. Otherwise, he'd have lost it all over again.

His study was a contrast of leather and sober woods. He'd been a military man for over ten years, a career man like his father before him. Beside the door, his fathers' medals hung on the wall right next to his grandfathers. Similar displays graced the wall, going back to the ancestors whom had fought in World War II, and before.

Richard set his daughter on "her" chair, a miniature wooden rocking chair his father-in-law had made. She had insisted it be brought into his study so she had somewhere to sit when she "worked."

He swiveled his own office chair to face her, and let it sink to the lowest point before sitting. He didn't bother kneeling; children were smart, they knew when grownups were talking down to them.

"What's your question?" he asked, his tone becoming a fatherly serious.

"At school today, some of the other girls said that God couldn't exist because they found some old buildings on Mars. They can't be right, can they daddy?"

_Father, why did she have to ask that particular question?_ Richard prayed silently. Then he caught himself … praying … _to_ _Someone_ _whom I am doubting exists now?__ Is this_ … _Logical?_ He took a few seconds to consider. _ Faith versus Logic … you do not need to surrender your mind because you Believe. But if logic disproves my faith, need I abandon it?_

He slowly nodded to himself. _If logic dictates that a belief is unreasonable, than there is no logic in keeping that faith _… _God forgive me._

"Well, let's play Asking Questions," he hated himself for changing the venue, but couldn't see much of an alternative. Years before, when Laura had become pregnant for the first time, they had promised to always treat their children's questions seriously.

Annie brightened, showing the gap where she'd lost her first tooth. "Okay, ask me! Ask me!"

Richard sighed, making sure his daughter couldn't see it, _Good Lord, now what do I do … maybe … I can ask her questions … for me?_ A verse floated to the front of his mind. Something about _"From the lips of children …."_

He smiled and began. "Very well Ms. Williams, what is the focus of the question your friends have been asking?"

She frowned, furrowing her brow. "That people discovered buildings on Mars?" Richard waited, watching her puzzle through the problem. She looked down again, thinking. "That … that buildings prove God doesn't exist?"

He smiled sadly, "That would be one point of the question. But that's an odd question, can buildings stop an omnipotent Being?"

Annie giggled, "Of course not!"

_Smart girl,_ Richard thought, _most children her age would still be wondering about what "omnipotent" actually meant_. "Then why would people think buildings disprove the existence of God?"

She looked puzzled on that one. To be fair, it was a bit of a logical side-step, but it was important that she understood an effort had to be made.

"Um, I don't know …." She finally admitted.

"It's because we've always defined God as being for mankind," he explained, "so long as we were the only people in the universe, we were special. When we were special, we had to have a special beginning. When we discover more people, we have to face the possibility that they exist outside of God's will, which means we were wrong." _Over two thousand years of being wrong,_ he silently added.

Annie frowned, "But that's silly! If there are other people out there, why couldn't they be special too?"

Richard relaxed his shoulders, they'd gotten tense. "Because they weren't made by God, sweetie. They came from somewhere else."

His daughter got a stubborn glint in her eye, "But that's what you said wasn't good thinking. If God didn't make them, who did?"

He sighed, almost holding his head, "Possibly, no one."

Annie snorted, a very un-ladylike action they'd been trying to wean her off of. "Everything starts, daddy. You told me yourself. Maybe God made them a long time ago, and didn't tell us? "

Richard considered the idea. Couched in those terms, it did seem less ridiculous … "Tell you what, sweetie, how about I read about it and get back to you on it?"

She nodded, smiling, and bounced out the door, leaving the rocking chair to slowly stop on its own. He watched the chair settle for a long moment. _That, in and of itself is a lesson, I suppose. But what is the answer?_

* * *

Richard turned to his desk, pouring over a copy of _Strongs'_ _Concordance_. It had always been a great help in time of trouble. He'd never studied Greek or Aramaic, and Hebrew baffled him almost as much as programming the AutoChef. Since he didn't know the language, he had to trust those who did, and check their references for something applicable.

The pages flew under his fingers, first by subject, then by alphabet. Nothing had been written under "worlds," or "stars," at least, nothing in the context for which he'd been searching.

"Aliens" showed up a few times, usually referring to guests in the homes of the Children of Israel. _Good to keep in mind, should we encounter any living aliens, but still not what I'm looking for_ …. he thought.

He turned to another section, searching for terms referencing groups. _Crowds, gatherings, Pentecost … _then, something popped out at him. Luke 2, verse 10 … _tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people_.

He froze, all people. Not "all mankind," or "for humanity" … _what's the original greek text?_ Richard thought for a moment, then grabbed his concordance again. _Differs from "demos" which means "one's own people" therefore meaning … peoples. Indiscriminate._

The chair creaked under his weight_, So no limiting agent is placed on this … any people are considered potential recipients of the Good News. I have to make some calls, he quickly grabbed the phone and started dialing his pastor_ … then stopped. _No, first, I need to find my daughter. And thank her._

He bolted out of his chair, feeling as if the entire world had just slipped off his shoulders. If that daughter of his was still in the house, he was going to make her the best cake he'd ever made!

* * *

**A/N: Okay, this was not originally part of what I was writing, but I received a few reviews requesting a bit more depth to this particular segment of history. In particular, Aeternix was highly articulate. I will be adding a few more chapters as time allows. It's thrown off my schedule a little, but I think it's worth it.**

**Questions or comments? Leave a review or PM me. I respond to both, although I'm a little slow sometimes. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3: Arcturus

Charon Relay, 2116

Jon Grissom was a space-faring legend. He was born on Mars, raised by a pair of pioneers and the top-scoring student on both Mars and Earth. He could bare-shirt a spacewalk with no problems because liquid nitrogen flowed in his veins. When the Red Sand smugglers came to hijack his first assigned ship, he became a demon warrior, killing two of the pirates with his bare hands and a third by spitting in his eye. Or so the tales told.

Grissom himself had a different story to tell, though few people were willing to listen to it. That was partly his fault; he enjoyed his solitude. Having been raised in the densely populated enviro-domes of Mars, he gained a unique appreciation for his solitude. In fact that was a common trait among the people raised on Mars. This made it difficult to socialize at times, lending to the air of mystery with which he'd found himself burdened.

Since he was one of the few children of the first generation Martian colonists, he had the benefit of being educated by the exceedingly intelligent founders. No fools were accepted for a colonial effort, and his generation had benefited greatly.

In all honesty, Grissom _would_ admit to himself that he was fairly intelligent. He also would be the first to admit he'd learned from some of the best teachers humanity had to offer. They'd had the hands-on experience that instructors back on Earth could just never match. Add the fact that both of his parents drove themselves just as hard as they pushed him, and the intelligence theory manifested itself with little difficulty.

The suit-less spacewalk, though, was explained by an accident he'd been unlucky enough to undergo. An oxygen tank had ruptured on the under-equipped shuttle he'd piloted due to it being struck by a micrometeorite…this was before the development of shield technology from the Prothean Ruins. Forced to decide between a risky jump and death by fire, he'd waited until the last possible moment, then cycled the airlock and leaped out of his vessel into the rescue shuttle. The two airlocks had cycled at the same time, providing partial insulation and allowing Grissom to spend minimal time in space. Despite the technicalities, however, the stories grew and stuck.

Now, he was in command of the _Nova Dream_, an exploratory vessel set to go beyond the furthest point known to man…and then some.

Charon had been an oddly shaped moon orbiting Pluto until the Prothean Archive had been translated. The Archives had mentioned various "Relays," gifts left by the Insuonnon, but the details became darker. Somehow, the Relays were turned against them. How or why was never recorded. A few lines after the betrayal of the Relays, the entries ceased.

Exploration of Pluto became possible when the first FTL drives were created. Since the quantities of Element Zero were limited, the most ingenious minds humanity had to offer created alternatives. Armored sections were reduced to the bare minimum, and the mass of shield generators were increased. The net gain allowed ships to lose weight, without losing the protective shell required for interplanetary travel, which translated to less mass for the FTL drives to propel.

Additional discoveries behind Io, one of Jupiters moons, allowed for even further refinement of the FTL drive. An abandoned spaceship, cold and lifeless, floated in geosynchronous orbit behind it. The Earth nations nearly had a collective heart attack when they calculated its orbit to be less than twenty years previous. The former occupants were nowhere to be found, suspected to have either committed suicide by space-walk, or had been picked up and left their ship for lost. Whatever the cause, the Alliance concentrated on building up their space navy, jealously hoarding their eezo stores for military-grade vessels…barely sparing enough for a probe. Fortunately, one was authorized for exploring the outer planets.

The first probe had reached Pluto and discovered something strange. Charon, first the moon of a small planet, then a co-planetoid, was far smaller than the calculations based on observations of its gravity had predicted. Above that, sampling its surface found pure ice covering a core of pure metal…and an incredibly powerful Element Zero signature.

Excavation led to the discovery of the Charon Relay. No one knew where it led, hence the need for exploration.

Grissom heard the lock-step of an ensign behind him bringing him back to the present, and stifled a sigh.

"Captain?" Came the high-pitched voice of his yeoman. She presented him with a polymer sheet with papers ready to sign.

"How are things proceeding?" He gave back the clipboard. Someday they'd have to make something easier to use than paper stuck to a board by friction. Especially in space.

"The rest of the fleet report as ready and await your command," the fresh-faced yeoman saluted, smiling.

He returned the salute, and the smile. Sometimes it was invigorating to have people so enthusiastic about space. "Tell the fleet we will depart soon. Keep a close eye on the engines and be ready to get those guns online. We don't know what's out there, but we need to be ready for it."

Another exchange of salutes, and the ensign was hurrying back to her station.

Grissom took a moment to stare out the forward window. Windows were protested by some as weakness, but he couldn't see any lack of strength in being able to watch the stars. He particularly liked watching the Mass Relay hovering before them. Tireless. Enduring. How long had it been there? Since before the Protheans? Had the Insuannon truly built them? They were beautiful to look at, no doubt about it. Once again, he admired the iridescent blue vapor trailing along the outer edges of the Relay. The visual aspect lead the gaze both away and towards the glowing-white center, reminiscent of the best paintings back on Earth.

"Sir," the navigator got his attention, "we have clearance to launch. They are wishing us good luck, sir."

Grissom grunted, "So be it."

"Would you like to address the fleet, sir?" the navigator asked.

Grissom almost refused, he respected his colleagues far too much to think a simple speech would convince them to follow. But then, he reconsidered. If this was his last voyage, he wanted a record for posterity.

"Fine," he growled, "put them on." He waited until the comm specialist nodded at him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "This is Captain Jon Grissom, on the _Nova Dream._ It is my pleasure to welcome you to this expedition, and my honor to be leading you."

"This is a historic first step, made by no other man. Some have said it will not work, but the people I trust say it will. This is a dangerous trip, and now is the last chance to back out. If anyone wishes to stay, neither I, nor anyone else in the fleet, will think any less of you."

He waited several seconds, then several more. Silence pervaded the comm network.

"Thank you, gentlemen," his voice was a little husky. Sometimes, the pride he had in his people caused a little choking sensation. Even jumping headfirst through a rabbit hole didn't faze them.

"Now. Let's make history."

The small ship moved away from the fleet gracefully. A dozen probes followed their progress closely, scientists and reporters alike were watching their every move.

The Relay seemed to be watching them as well, its coruscating eye rotating faster as they approached. A single tendril arced outwards, caressing the vessel. The ship engines glowed for a fraction of a second, as if the two elements recognized each other as the same at heart, then the scout transport blurred into a vanishing line.

For Grissom, it was almost unreal. He saw the massive Relay loom before him, then roll away to the port side. The board lit up, and the stars beyond the window stretched.

Surprisingly, he felt very little motion. No change in mass, no shift in momentum. Had he been sitting, he might have missed the nauseating slight shift in gravity. But the sky….

"Holy Mother of God…" he heard the pilot mutter.

Grissom understood the sentiment. The friendly stars he'd seen his entire life were gone. Or…not completely gone, shifted into constellations he did not recognize. All spacers recognized the myriad of colors the universe reserved for those few who left the suffocating atmosphere behind…but this was the first foreign starscape man had ever seen.

"Position," he rapped out.

"Checking sir," the navigator answered. "Estimates are pegging us as over thirty light-years out…calculating…"

Even from where he was standing, Grissom heard the hiss of surprise. He twisted his head back at the man.

The navigator looked up slowly, looking strangely happy, "Sir, we should be within a light-year of Arcturus."

The crew started clapping as the news spread. Dull cheers emanated from the lower decks, joining the accolades.

Grissom raised his arms, joining in the victory, adding his voice to the tumult.

"Sir!" the pilot was waving his hand, "Sir, you have to see this!"

Grissom stooped, still absurdly happy. What he saw took his breath away.

Scans from the _Nova Dream_ were showing results that would have the astrophysicists salivating. Out on the edge of the system, orbiting the deep red star like immortal sentinels, hung more Mass Relays…nearly a half-dozen of them….

"Gentlemen," Grissom kept staring at those gateways, "I believe we can count this mission a success."

* * *

**A/N: I hope everyone had a happy 4th! For those of you whom are not in the USA, may you have a great holiday whenever it occurs! There will be one more lore-building chapter, then we will get into the bigger chapters. I apologize for the chapter upset; I am attempting to keep these in order, and will incorporate the codex chapter I loaded 2 weeks ago next Sunday with the last Lore chapter.**

**Thank you for your comments, reviews, and lurking-reading! Special thanks to Nightstride for his beta assistance, as usual :)**


	4. Chapter 4: Banes

The Opportunist

_The Muir Woods has to be one of the greatest testaments to Yankee Ingenuity._ Banes considered the shaggy, mammoth redwood tree outside his camper, admiring its gigantic proportions. _Not only have we preserved something older than civilized Europe, we've learned how to make it profit. I should have come here months ago, who knows what sort of exploits this place could have inspired?_

He stretched, eyeing the walking stick by the door. _Go for another walk? Hmmmm, no. Too many busybodies. Check on the news? … I have been incommunicado for a few weeks now. I wonder if those alien ruins have come up with anything new …._

Pausing by the miniature kitchen, he started the microwave on another pre-packaged delicacy. _Truth be told, it's rather nice to not bother with sycophant waiters. Not quite as good as what I could make at home ... but then again, I'm never there_. Banes took a moment to inhale the fresh air, savoring the pine-scent wafting through the room. _The bottled version is never quite as good as the original. Another lesson: second best is sufficient only for those lazy enough to not get the original._

While the meal cooked, he flipped on the television set, booting up the built-in connection. That little feature had added a few thousand to the campers' buying price, but in his eyes, it was completely worth it.

He automatically clicked past vapid entertainment channels, then paused on the 24/7 news network. The _Nova Dream_ vessel had apparently passed through the artifact … _wait a minute, Prothean technology worked for a human vessel?_ That alone was incredible; multiple individuals had argued against the adoption of Element Zero technology. There was very little of the substance available, and the potential ramifications had varied from creating a new planet-type gravity field to multi-verse hopping.

But just activating ancient technology wasn't enough, apparently. Video imaging from the _Nova Dream_ showed more Relays … five of them. _Five? Where do they lead?_ He took a moment to do some mental arithmetic, double checking with the 'net, _If Arcturus is about thirty-seven light years away, another connection could take us seventy light years total!_

Trembling fingers found the remote, activating the recorder. _I have to keep this!_ His knees found a chair, giving him a small warning before he fell into the seat. The hardwood hurt, but it snapped him back to _reality_.

He started thinking analytically again. _Breathe, good. You started thinking when the Ruins were discovered, now build on that foundation. What will happen now that we can journey through the stars? _Despite his youth, he had extensive experience in the naivety of the general public_. The public will either cower in fear, or push forwards faster than it should. Neither will help anyone. But how to counter either extreme?_

The television continued talking, bringing in "experts" from around the world to bear on the situation. UFO enthusiasts crowed victory over skeptics, and skeptics reached new heights in their attitudes. _Interesting_, he thought. As the talking heads nattered in the background, he called up a search program, obtaining a general economic report. _No, don't look at just the corporate section. Let's see … civilian organization membership lists, dues reports … intriguing_.

The list scrolled upwards, courtesy of a _very_ advanced search engine created by a gifted researcher at MIT. _Civilian organizations are required to file public access reports … sort by finances, yes._ Multiple organizations were displaying violently changing membership listings, with matching income stability.

In particular, the _Flat Earth Society_ seemed to be partially crumbling … Banes knew for a fact over half of its membership was present solely for the monthly buffet discounts. _This won't affect their participation any more than modern medical science affects Civil War re-enactors._ _Before they had purpose, but now__ their goal is fellowship and good times._

That set off another train of thought. _The Roman emperors were right. Food and circuses … that's all the public wants. Entertainment and a full stomach. The public doesn't _really_ care about how goals are achieved, they just want the work done without the details._ He smiled grimly. _So long as they don't know it's illegal, they don't bother trying to find out. That may be the answer._

* * *

The Capitalist

Fortunately, Armistan had a digital rolodex on his vacation. _Former vacation. Now it's back to business_. It contained the contact information of a surprisingly large number of influential people. Some contacts were inherited from his predecessor, others had been made on his own. Still more were friends in their own right … like Phillip Cord.

The ringtone vibrated slightly, the earpiece pressing against his ear. _Come on come on … pick up!_

_"Cord here."_ The other end answered after half a dozen rings.

"Cord, this is Banes. Got a minute?"

The voice changed from polite interest to _very_ interested. "_I'm on a meeting break right now, but it won't reconvene for another ten minutes. Will that suffice?"_

Armistan felt his face twist into an almost rictus-type smile. "Yes, but I warn you: the meeting may seem unimportant after this."

_While I have learned to never doubt you, I am skeptical of your claim. The recent discoveries on Mars have sent the stock market reeling, have you seen the numbers? Cord Industries will take a beating if we don't show our competence, and soon!"_

"What if I could show you schematics of alien spacecraft, information that was decoded only a few days ago?"

Silence stretched across the connection. Armistan could almost hear the other man thinking. It was a gamble; the schematics he could access were technically top secret. But the encoded information was being dumped to the blasted _Internet_. The thrice blasted Alliance Initiative had thrown the floodgates open, _probably a bid for popularity. While they hold the keys to all the resources, they'll be the most popular organization around_. If the worst came to the worst, he had a friend at the ISP. Files could be hidden so easily these days. Replacement parts for a communication company wouldn't be cheap, but even if they cost ten times the current price, they'd be worth it.

_"All right, you have me interested. Tell me more."_

Armistan flipped open a computer and started an upload. "The plan is simple, Earth will need spacecraft, and need them _fast_. You have some of the best manufacturing hardware available to the industry, and the resources to use them. I know how to reach people, and how to make them _listen_ to me. Together, we could make a mint!"

The businessman responded exactly the way he'd hoped. _"I'm more than willing to open a new line if it makes my shareholders money. But what about problems along the way? Regulations?"_

"There are no regulations right now, this is happening far too quickly for committees to catch up. Yes, the governments had plans for alien landings, but this isn't an invasion, and nobody expected to find plans giftwrapped on _neutral_ territory.

_"Mars is neutral territory? Good to know. I can work with that, but we'll need another backer. Someone who is not related to my business."_

Armistan pumped his fist silently, "I can handle that. Talk to your people, I'll be forwarding the information within a few minutes."

_"No, I'll have a courier swing by in an hour. In the meantime, I'll be preparing a new facility. It had been set for avionics testing, but under the circumstances I don't think new planes will be needed very soon. Goodbye, and good luck."_

The line went dead, leaving Armistan Banes to perform the intellectual version of the Victory Dance. Namely, counting potential effectiveness, leveraging in the future for better prospects than ever before.

* * *

The Scientist

"Hello, Mr. Sirta?"

The professor stared at his chalkboard. _The Numbers are right, I'm sure of it. But what cellular matrice would be capable of withstanding–_

"Excuse me, you are Johannes Sirta, are you not?" the voice tried again.

"Hmmm? Sorry, no classes are available at this time. Try again at the beginning of next semester." Sirta pulled a different colored chalk and began sketching a potential receptor.

"I'm sorry sir, but I am not a student. I'm –"

"There is no time available for consultations either, I'm sorry." Professor Sirta stepped back, evaluating his work. _Good, that allows for a higher energy flux within the mitochondria, but what kind of element would stimulate anaphase separation prior to the typical duplication sequence?_

"I am not here for a consultation, Professor. I'm here to ask for your help."

_Good heavens this man is annoying_. Sirta wheeled around, fixing his spectacles back to their original position. "May I ask your name, sir?"

The gentleman bowed slightly, "I am Armistan Banes, an entrepreneur advisor and general go-between. I heard about your work with stem-cell replication, and was wondering if I might make you an offer?"

"Oh. You're one of _Them_," the professor sneered. "I have enough people hanging around my laboratory, trying to bribe me to their companies." He turned his back on the man, "I gave up that field long ago, after they rejected my innovations. Now that I have progress, _now_ they want me back?" He resumed sketching, _Perhaps if I alter the telomerase into a constant energy-production code—_

"I am not with any former company of yours, Professor. I am here only to give you an opportunity a friend and I are creating. It is …" Banes walked slowly around the chalkboard, "a limited time offer."

Sirta threw his glasses onto the desk. "Fine. Tell me what you came to say, and then leave me alone!"

A sheaf of papers slide across his desk in response. _It's probably a gamble, but … why not?_

He glanced at the papers, "Fine, you have a brilliant start. Go and …." He took a closer look at the leading paper. _A non-Newtonian fluid, created as an ionic exchange buffer_? His eyes narrowed at Banes. "Where did you get this nonsense?"

The other man shrugged, hands open. "In my occupation, a great deal of information crosses my desk. I know a man in the aviation industry whom is looking for investment opportunities in alternative fields … but he knows next to nothing of biology. You on the other hand …."

"Have been published hundreds of times, won the Nobel Prize three times in a row yadda yadda yadda," finished the professor. _He wants something … _"I understand the situation. Tell me, _what has changed_?"

The newcomer looked around cautiously, then took a step closer. "I know you are close to perfecting your miracle fluid, Doctor Sirta. I know you need help setting up a production facility. With this information, you can _make_ that miracle. With my help, you can create a corporation large enough to fulfill any number of orders."

Sirta glanced back at the papers, then up at the earnest face before him. "This information couldn't have been free. What do you want out of it?"

The other mans' shoulders drooped. "I am not entirely … proud of how I made my wealth, Doctor." Banes looked at the floor, "I've been in the business of making money only a few years, but I am _good_ at it. As a politician, I was able to help companies start from scratch, and destroyed those who tried circumventing established regulation. Neither activity has been completely free of corruption, try though I have."

Sirta leaned back in his chair, still watching. _Definitely not to be trusted. Especially if he boasts of rule-flouting._

"But when this information came to my attention, I realized I had a chance to atone, to make a real _difference_ in life!" His eyes tried boring straight through the elderly professors' gaze. "You are the only man on Earth that can make this dream of mine a reality. I don't want the profits from this, you can have them for research or whatever you wish. I will sign a contract to that effect if you want! But will you help me?"

Doctor Sirta glared at Banes, then down at the papers. Then he burst out laughing.

Banes eyebrows shot up, "Did I say something amusing?"

Sirta shook with laughter, slapping his leg, "I may be an old man, but I'm no fool." He gained control, sitting upright. "Good effort, boy. But I've been around the block a few times, and I know when someone is trying to pull something over an old mans' eyes."

He waited a moment, watching the expectation fade from Bane's eyes. _Time it … carefully … now._ "But you bring me an opportunity that will pass me by in my old age. Very well Mister Penitent Man. How do I use my formula to turn this suspicious piece of paper into a goldmine?"

He watched Banes eyes widen slightly, then narrow. _I'm no fool, and now you know it. Don't you try tricking me boy-o._

"Of course!" The younger man, nodded approvingly. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**A/N: Chuck here, just wanted to say thank you for reading another chapter! I am personally astounded at the number of follows so far … I really thought this would max out around 15-20. My ego, and my sense of self-worth thank you!**

**This is the last of the "standard" chapters. The next major "divergence" will occur in the following chapter. I apologize for the slow start; as a history/biology major, I like to put down the entire groundwork for a new history before building on it. In the future, I will be progressing quickly, without time to show how things developed in such a way. Hold onto your hats :)**

**I would like to convey my thanks to the best beta on fanfic, Nightstride, and to Wolfstar888 for his imagination, and to the Aria's Afterlife Forum. All the aforementioned have some great stories going. If you're looking for some more reading material, check them out!**

**And just so ten ton purple hippopotami don't begin dancing on my car, Bioware owns Mass Effect, and I am not gaining any monetary remuneration for this fic. Thank you.**


	5. Chapter 5: Secret on Jupiter

June 5, 2117

_SSV Marco Polo_

0800 hours

Captain James Colburn loved space. He'd been one of the first people born on Luna, and stars had been in his eyes ever since.

Years of study and hard work led to his having command of the _SSV Marco Polo_, a survey vessel with the task of exploring Earth's neighboring systems within its star cluster. A social visit, as it were. Arcturus may have become the brand new end-goal of Humanity, but very little was known about the Home System. _Sort of like how the oceans were at the turn of the millennium._

They had made one stop for supplies at the new, unfinished Gagarin Station just Sol-ward of Saturn. It was nowhere near as large as the investors wanted, but it did it serve many other useful purposes. Most vessels going beyond Mars visited the station to top off their fuel and haul supplies to the pioneers out there. Rumor had it that there was a group of settlers planning to live on the station the rest of their lives.

Colburn knew it for more than a rumor; however, Mr. and Mrs. Shepard, friends of his family, were among those settlers. They were already picking names for her firstborn. He'd suggested "Hannah," but they'd been convinced they would be having a boy.

"Coming up on observation point," came the pilot's voice. Colburn glanced down, the Captain's chair was only a few feet behind the pilot so he should've seen the readings himself. Served him right for woolgathering.

"All stations, report," he ordered. The First Lieutenant relayed the signals to the rest of the ship. All decks checked in, engines and medical last.

Colburn watched the stations call in, level by level. Orange-tinted screens blinked into readiness He still found it fantastic that they had so many computer systems crammed into one vessel. Less than thirty years earlier, they had been restricted to single-main-frame vessels reminiscent of the venerable Space Shuttle. The discovery of actual _Prothean_ vessels, aided by the entrepreneurship of private sector wags, the shipbuilding business had grown by leaps and bounds.

And he was a part of that progress. Humanity had grown more in the past twenty years than in the previous two hundred; that's what made him so excited to be here. _I, James Colburn, am leading the first manned investigation to the largest planet of their system. Ever!_

"All stations report ready," his commander informed, interrupting his train of thought. "Teams standing by, sir."

"Very good number one," he chuckled at the eye-roll the title inspired. "All right, Davis, commence with the scanning." Colburn countersigned the order, and sent it back with a flick of his fingers. The stars outside the cockpit beckoned, promising opportunity.

He personally liked the view. Although technically, stars didn't sparkle in space, they faded in and out depending on the thickness of the glass. It mesmerized. The lack of actual "sparkling" was more than made up for by the sheer number of stars visible ... _plus, so many colors! Through an atmosphere, they all look bland, pale and white._ With no atmosphere to filter the weaker stars he could see _millions_ of the colored points, without any enhancement.

"Sir, we have an anomaly!" his normally calm commander shouted as he stared at the screen.

"Show me," Colburn ordered. He shifted his screen upward and expanded the size. Data scrolled across the bottom frame, processing the incoming transmissions. "Great God Almighty" he whispered. _Is this for real? Or … is someone pranking me? _he took a quick glance around the cabin. _No cameras, so this isn't a publicity stunt. _ He focused back on the monitor. Nothing had changed, an alien spacecraft floated in the dead center of the probe's viewfinder.

"Orders, Captain?"

For a moment, Colburn wished he'd been content with a less prestigious position, _perhaps a janitor back on Earth?_ But then his curiosity pushed forwards, overruling timidity.

"Get that probe closer," he ordered. "Send the standard hails and the first contact stream SETI's been broadcasting the past few decades." He looked down to his crew and saw fear in their eyes. It was a fear he knew all too well, the same fear mankind had fought since the dawn of time: fear of the unknown.

"Gentlemen, we've known we weren't alone out here ever since we found those Ruins. Our First Contact with aliens was inevitable … it just appears to be sooner, rather than later." He grinned at them. "We represent mankind for good or ill. If these aliens are friends, we will prove our greatness. If they are enemies, we will show them our strength."

The crews' actions still betrayed nervousness, but they began working with more enthusiasm than before.

Just off to one side, his commander leaned over and in a quiet voice, asked, "And what military strength do we have in space?"

Colburn silenced him with a glance. They'd had this argument many times over the past year. Whether or not Man needed to sully the purity of space with weapons of war was beyond his pay grade. Like all men, though, he held opinions.

"Sir, thermal imaging is putting the unknown vessel as cold," the port sensor technician spoke up. "Looks like there's some heat in the front, a little in the center, but nothing like power systems."

The captain frowned, perhaps this wasn't a First Contact after all. _That could be good, I suppose._ _But why abandon a ship here? Did the original owners die?_

"Set up an extensive scan routine. I want every centimeter of that ship on record before anything else happens." He tapped his comm specialist. "Olsen, I want reports sent back to Earth every ten minutes, include the video feeds as a constant stream." He turned to his commander, "Much as I don't like it, your combat skills may come in handy. Pick an away team … just in case."

Commander Davis nodded solemnly. Colburn knew the man didn't view himself as a warmonger, but he had a less optimistic view of the universe than his superior. A few years of active service in the Marines did that to people.

* * *

June 7, 2117

1300 hours

Colburn stared at his desk. Pictures of his family sat prominently next to several paintings his young son had sent.

It had been two days … _well, less than that, but I figure any day that has more than three iterations of the same hour counts_. So far, they'd only seen the outside of That Bloody Thing, so nicknamed by his engineering crew. Officially, it was Unknown Object 1138, but he personally preferred his engineer's term.

Two days and nothing … no signal … no lights, and … no little green men. If this was First Contact, it was definitely nothing like what he'd anticipated.

_Still, it could've be worse,_ he ruminated … _it could've been violent._ Yet, that was the best and worst of it all. The exterior belly of the alien vessel had a pair of tubes; unless they were for funneling outside gases like an ancient ramjet, they were weapons. In comparison, the only weapons the research vessel possessed were solid-state rockets_. If that alien ship used FTL to reach the Sol system, it has technology light-years beyond what we have … it'd be like throwing spit wads at one of those YMIR mechs the Cord Corporation keeps showing off._

He heard his door gently chime. He ignored it.

Why did the universe have to work this way? Why couldn't people get along without violence? Man had left violence behind on Earth, or so he'd believed. There had been no murders, no major thefts on Luna, Mars, or even the Gagarin Station.

"A word, Captain?"

Colburn jumped. He hadn't heard his Davis come in. All in keeping with his own obliviousness, he supposed bitterly. "Yes, please, come in," he growled. "Come to gloat? Make fun of the senile fool?"

Davis smiled. "I see no fool. Just a man that has the strength to see the best no matter what."

Colburn snorted. "Fat lotta' good that does. We get away from Earth, from all that war and crime …." He gestured uselessly at the ceiling. "And then this happens. War is waiting for us in space."

His commander made himself comfortable on a chair opposite his. "It's encouraging, though, seeing that aliens are carrying weapons ... it gives me hope."

Colburn snorted, _I should've guessed. _"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Hear me out," Davis held up a hand. "You yourself told your crew that we would show our strength if the aliens wanted war. Do you believe that?"

"Yes …." Colburn pulled the word into two-syllables.

Davis shrugged, hands out in a there-you-go gesture, "If you believe mankind would show strength, then you believe mankind would pull together in the face of a common foe. If our foes are worried enough to weaponize their exploration vessels … that means that they have problems as well."

He found himself curious as to where this reasoning was leading. "And that's good because …?"

Davis grinned at him. "If they had a utopia out there, we would seem pretty barbaric to them. You don't need guns in a utopia, so they have strife out there just like us. We're very similar, which means we can reason with them … probably."

Colburn laughed, ""When you put it that way, I have to agree, at least in part. Maybe negotiation will be at gunpoint, but at least there will be a chance for peace."

His second nodded firmly, "And on that note, I have a few forms here recommending the a coalition begin research on military applications for eezo. I also have a form strongly suggesting the formation of a diplomatic corps that studies everything alien … in case they're friendly."

Colburn tilted his head, "You are assuming our political pull has increased because of this discovery."

Davis nodded again, firmly. "Situations like this have come through history only once in a great while, sir. We have a brief moment to sway what impact we make, sir. We need to ensure that our people will have the chance to live if aliens are hostile. If they're peaceful, we need to be just as well prepared."

He had to think for a long moment. It wasn't a _complete_ revocation of his views, but enough to cause him pause. _Then again, pacifists can only exist in an environment that fights for them._

"Hand them over," he reached out to take the submission, "and afterwards, let's take another look at that ship. I hear the Admiralty wants us to tow it to Gagarin station."

Davis gave his captain a crisp nod, "Right you are, sir."

* * *

**A/N: Hello again! Sorry this is early, I am leaving town for a conference today, and am not sure I'll be able to publish on the usual schedule.**

**So, this is the last of the "short" chapters, the rest will be longer. Yay! This chapter is rather key to how my AU is developing; humanity got a fully-functional, modern FTL ship, unlike the prothean models that were who knows how many years old. This will alter the development schedule quite a bit, yet not so far as to make humans OP. I hope.**

**The next chapter will introduce an OC, the beginnings of InterStellar communication (sort of), and take place a few years down the road.**

**Props to NightStride for his tireless beta efforts! For the record, retroactive et al, I do not own Mass Effect.**

**Questions or comments? Review or PM! I answer all questions ... about my Mass Effect fanfic. Problems with debt or relationship issues would be better discussed with a professional.**

**See you next week!**

**8/9/2014 grammar update**


	6. Chapter 6: First Contact part I

_I refuse to tell anyone. Almost no one knows how I reached my current position, not even the thrice-cursed Jack Harper, may he rot in peace! But … I can't really complain. I was given a gift. A great one, that few other humans can be said to have received._

_When history was made, I was there to record it. When the government needed an expert, I was ready to serve. When Humanity reached First Contact, and needed someone to take charge … I made the call._

_But I can't tell anyone. There were good people in my group, taken by someone who was formerly a trusted employee. _

_I will regain what was lost. Given enough time._

_~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD _

_Project __Ragnarök Files, dated less than thirty years before the Reaper War._

* * *

Arcturus System, 2150 A.D.

The only warning humans were able to catch was a brief burst of static next to one of the best charted moons in Alliance space. There was nothing in that location that could distort the sensors, at least nothing on such a scale. Nothing in the books covered this contingency…which meant it was a problem.

Such was the introduction Man was given to the rest of the galaxy. Unlike many other races, this First Contact was completely on the burgeoning society's terms.

An alert had been sent to the Arcturus Station, currently the main headquarters for the Alliance Fleet. Tactically speaking, it registered as a low-priority target. The station, well protected by three battle stations still boasted shields more powerful than ten dreadnoughts combined. It's position made it perfect for coordinating the entire system into a hunting ground. Once the alert was received, however, the mighty station released the majority of its vessels, directing them into a protective pattern, spiraling outwards towards the Relays.

Several patrols already had positions near the Relays proper. As added support, the 2nd Fleet took a defensive posture, placing frigates at each Relay and sent its larger vessels to points equidistant from the Relays. The carriers of the fleet stayed with the cruisers, disgorging their charges and unleashing hundreds of fighters in the search, joining the fighters already released by the Arcturus Station.

Medium-sized vessels, the sensor and battle cruisers, were joined by several destroyers, aiding in rigorous sweeps across the likeliest hiding places. The missile cruisers were held back behind the other ships, cargo readied for launch.

Within minutes, the Relays were secured. Within hours, they had tracked the unknown vessel to its hiding place, one of the asteroids brought in for mining.

* * *

STG vessel _Deep Explorer_

The small vessel hid itself next to the massive, tumbling boulder. An improvised grapple, overcharged to stick to the iron-dense asteroid, tethered the ship to the rock like a mollusk. Had any human eyes seen the docking maneuver, they would have believed the action performed by a preset auto-pilot sequence, not an organic mind.

Salarians, however, thought inhumanly fast and had reflexes to match. Now, the sole goal of the crew was to get back to civilization in one piece…preferably with their data intact. But either scenario meant debate.

"No! No-no-no! We cannot destroy the data without a sufficient cause to believe imminent failure! As of yet, we are still capable of exiting with the data intact!"

Captain Tien watched his chief xenologist press the point. While it was true he was overseeing the youngest authorized STG team in decades, and while he felt sympathy for the scientists reasoning, facts were facts!

"I understand," he replied with as little rancor as he could, "but the present situation is problematic. We were completely unprepared for the observation of an unknown sophisticated race! Batarians were simple enough; there are Citadel precedents, balancing potentially aggressive actions with the threat of retaliation. An unknown species? Too many variables."

Salcha hung his head, "True…but the data we've obtained is possibly vital for STG weapons development! It's a completely new combat approach with novel applications! The tactical ramifications alone are potentially galactic in scope!"

The pilot Ramke interrupted their exchange. "Finish your negotiations soon, please. The time for eggs is growing shorter!"

Both the researcher and the captain glared at the pilot. He offered a turian-style gesture, and simultaneously jammed the controls into overdrive while cutting the tether in one easy move.

Their vessel scooted away from shelter seconds before a close-range barrage impacted. The pilot directed their path in a spiraling route, bypassing the larger ships, cruisers from what they'd hacked, and darting through a drone swarm. At least, he thought they were drones.

Yet, the small drones looped with a grace that no AI could match, homing in on the salarian vessel like _gelan_ (1)1 flies. Strange sounds broke over the salarian communicator; mammalian by the sound of it. Tien noticed a pattern in the noise, like a command. Every time that particular noise was heard, the small craft altered position.

Quickly, he deployed an ECM waffle, sending junk signals through a wide array of frequencies. Instantly the small ships lost coherence, still maneuvering with skill, but no longer as if they spoke with each other.

"We have an exit window clear inside of two minutes!" Ramke called back. "I'm not getting paid enough for this!"

The captain refrained from slapping the impertinent operative, "Complain later, fly now!"

Just as the ship reached the Relay, even as a victorious thrill ran up Tien's spine, the ship went dark. All of their electronics abruptly closed down. A fraction of a second later, bright sparks jumped from metal portions of the ship, touching anything exposed.

Tien could see his compatriots stiffen, then everything went black.

* * *

Arcturus System

The unknown vessel evaded the GUARDIAN burst, and shot directly for the one of the unexplored Mass Relays. As such it had been heavily fortified with the best deterrents available.

None of the defenses made a difference. The lock-on missiles sprayed uselessly in all directions, proximity mines detonated long after the alien craft had passed. Even the prototype energy net failed, disintegrating under painfully precise Mass Accelerated rounds.

The ship made a run for the Relay, engine responding. Just as the vessel made its approach, however, a Lightning class frigate came in from the opposite direction, Aitan battery blazing streaks.

The alien ship lost its blue glow and drifted past the Relay…dead to the galaxy.

* * *

Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer

[System Redacted]

The aliens were familiar, everyone on the facility station knew that. The wide eyes, tall skinny physique and lack of corresponding cranial markers were hallmarks of pseudo-science across the homeworld, plus a few colonies now.

Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer had referred back to the ancient images bearing names from Earth. Some were attributed to a Rosewell research center, others were concept illustrations by one Betty Barny Hill. The image had apparently become a mainstream concept, taking starring roles in multiple media including video games, movies, and literature.

There were certainly differences, though. These aliens were not a monochrome gray. The two that were still alive had brightly colored skins, one had a ruddy orange and white pattern, the other, a dark red, almost black coloration. The dead alien, who apparently had been in close contact with a part of the hull, had possessed a tan and grey coloration.

All three had cranial horns, although the function for that particular feature was undetermined. The two living aliens also had a habit of following exactly what was going on … to the point where they actually assisted the examining physician in his tests. Some of the researchers theorized that these aliens actually understood what was being said, and just refused to speak. How else would they have managed to penetrate so far behind Alliance borders? Dr. Pavenmeyer disagreed with that idea however, on the grounds of Occam's' Razor2 if nothing else.

The ship itself was remarkable. The engineers studying it declared the majority of its critical components near-identical to the vessels found in the Prothean Archive. One engineer had already forwarded the eezo engine designs to his colleagues on Earth; the rest were working on the computers, trying to see if they could learn the language.

To their surprise, it was the captives whom first initiated conversation.

* * *

Captain Tien

[System Redacted]

The armored aliens bustled about, changing the recording machines and bringing new test material for the two to work upon. None of them actually entered the room, of course. That was completely understandable, who knew what sort of bacteria these aliens could bring with them? That would contaminate the experiment, ruining any number of tests.

From a professional viewpoint, the room was highly functional. Clear panes of a highly dense material covered two walls of the room, while a white tiled material covered the remaining walls. Two rectangular flat things with a thin covering lined one wall, rest pallets perhaps? Luxurious. At least they were being treated with respect.

A faint clicking brought his attention to a screen inset beyond the transparent wall. It showed multiple symbols, a strange subset of hieroglyphics, perhaps? Ancient ancestor writings? Did they think the salarians were their ancestors?

The scientist immediately quashed that idea. Salarians were amphibious in nature, mammals did not arise from amphibians. That was a basic fact any species capable of highly advanced mathematics would understand.

The symbols, however, he understood now. They were a version of mathematical computations delineating an object's momentum in relation to its descent in an atmosphere. Childs play.

"Curious, we used similar aptitude tests when we discovered the turians," Tien mused. "This would be a highly adaptable species, perhaps testing for comparable traits?"

"This species does not appear to be surprised at our presence," his pilot responded. "Possibly, they know what we say?"

Tien studied the aliens. None of them reacted; he'd tested that theory early on, and repeated the experiment twice a day at random intervals since then.

"No, pretending is highly improbable. They are truly ignorant," he stated firmly. "I suggest learning their language and attempting to communicate from there."

Ramke listened to the aliens, "I have already compiled a list of probable object-titles, and a number of apparent action-commands. However, displaying our knowledge might hurt our chances to escape. Any other options?"

It was times like these that make Tien wish Salcha was present. Whether the aliens had recognized his rank or age was irrelevant, he'd been detected as being highly knowledgeable. That was a remarkable deduction from a species that had never even seen a salarian before.

"_This is the on button_."

Tien twisted to stare at Ramke.{comma} "What did you say?"

_"Press this button to begin language analysis_…."the salarian voice continued.

Ramke had one finger to the side of his eye, "It's a broadcast from our ship. The aliens must have discovered our First Contact package in the cargo hold."

_"Scanning. Please wait for the translation software to compile a complete lexicon. Alert: target language contains a high probability of containing vernacular references. Estimated time until finished translation…ten…hours."_

"Is it possible to accelerate the translation process?" Ramke asked nervously. The guards outside were holding the sides of their helmets as well, pointing weapons at the transparent walls.

Tien swallowed, touching the epidermis above his tympanic membrane, "Perhaps I can do something with symbolic gestures?"

He approached the barrier, waving his arms at the guardians. Their faceplates prevented eye contact, but he was sure they had noticed him. He tapped the side of his head, as he had seen them do, and then tapped his own chest, pointing alternately at themselves and himself.

He had to repeat the actions several times before someone came. Like the others, he wore a full-body armor set somewhat similar to the quarians, but much bulkier. Tien also noted that to support the weight of so much mass, the underlying being must have a proportionate amount of biomass.

* * *

Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer

[System Redacted]

Dr. Pavenmeyer watched the guards escort their…guest. The alien seemed supremely confident in itself, despite being outnumbered dozens of times over by heavily armed guards. Such behavior indicated either highly trained competence, or ignorance. Another alternative was that humanity had stumbled upon a race of foolhardy beings. Perhaps fear was limited to humans?

They arrived at the alien ship. It had been placed in a planetary dry-dock, examined by the best professionals in the fledgling Alliance. News had yet to break back on Earth, although the individuals cleared for the information had nearly undergone a collective aneurism. Clever spin-doctoring had eased the situation, although releasing the information they'd discovered would likely fan the fears into flame again.

The alien stopped unexpectedly. The guards instantly leveled their side arms, stepping out of reach. It ignored them, looking instead to what had been his ship.

Dr. Pavenmeyer approached, coming abreast of the strange being. Then he saw what the alien had seen. A body bag was being carried out of the ship on a gurney. Something long and gaunt was obviously inside.

The alien turned to Pavenmeyer. It said something in a large number of consonants and few vowels, gesturing at the body.

The doctor understood without the words, that initial stiff-backed shock had told him volumes.

"Hold the body right there. Let this fellow see we weren't the killers," _Intentionally_. he finished internally. The Alliance had fired upon a fleeing vessel with weapons designed to strip shields and short systems. Apparently, despite the incredibly advanced hardware inside the alien vessel, it lacked insulation between the metal layers.

The alien rushed forward, tugging at the covering. Pavenmeyer waved away the guards and helped the alien locate the zipper.

He gave the alien a moment to grieve.

The alien made a circular motion around its dead comrades' face, then carefully resealed the bag. When the guards resumed transporting it, the alien did not protest. It just looked…glum.

Dr. Pavenmeyer touched the alien on the shoulder, gesturing at the ship again.

The alien exhaled a surprisingly large breath, and walked inside.

The doctor decided to try using one of the consonant/clicking sounds the alien had made. "Teeeeannnn?" he intoned.

The alien jerked, staring at Pavenmeyer as if he'd grown a second head. Its skin beneath its eyes had lost some of its color. Then, it nodded, tapping its chest.

"Tteeiiinnn." It clicked.

Pavenmeyer grinned, "Looks like we have our first live alien word, boys!" he called. Turning back to the alien, he pointed at its chest. "Tiieeeennn?" he tried again.

The alien tapped its chest and repeated, "Teeeiin." Then, it poked Pavenmeyer in the chest.

The doctor blinked, then understood. "Paavvmiiirre." He said slowly and clearly.

The alien cocked its head, listening. Then it nodded vigorously, "Peevvvvmmiirrre." It said.

Then, it grabbed Pavenmeyers' arm, and nearly dragged him towards the ship. The guards immediately started closing in, one making a grab for the alien.

"Leave it alone, I think it's trying to tell us something," Pavenmeyer ordered. The guards reluctantly pulled back, but allowed the alien to pull the doctor into the ship.

Inside, engineers busily tapped strange-looking panels. Wires dangled from sockets, and strange orange screens hung suspended from nothing.

The alien kept going, ignoring and being ignored by the investigation team. He stopped in the aft section, next to a crate that had just been opened. An engineer was busy scanning a piece of technology formerly sealed inside, muttering to himself. He yelped when the alien brushed him aside, reaching in to push several switches.

"Doc, what's the weirdo doing in my project area? Do you know how long it took me to figure out how to get that box open in the first place? I'll tell you how long, it took me nearly three hours—"

"Impressive," interrupted a different voice.

Pavenmeyer checked behind himself. Only the alien had entered with himself, except for a guard, and the guard was a baritone, not a— wait.

He turned to face the alien. The alien had familiar expression. Even without a nose or eyebrows, its mien was unmistakably smug.

"It's you?" Pavenmeyer breathed.

"Your disbelief is reasonable. This form of technology is currently not within your species capabilities. It is a translation device of salarian design." The alien patted the device with a tridactyl hand, "I must congratulate you on initiating the language learning process so early. Most species never surpass basic symbolism before utilizing this software."

"Ah, thank you," Pavenmeyer found himself backing away from the creature. "So, is your name Tiiieeeen?"

The alien twinkled at him. "We can move beyond the basic patterns, I think. Yes, I am Tien, a—researcher."

The pause would have been enough to tip off another salarian, but a first exposure human was incapable of properly interpreting a salarians' rapid-fire delivery.

"Well then, Tien, welcome to my research facility. I am Doctor—"

"Pavenmeyer, yes, we've been through that already. There's no time for reiterations, we have much to do!" Tien spread its arms encompassing the entire ship. "An entirely new species, fully FTL capable, a remarkable achievement! Only a dozen other species are known for that accomplishment. The rest are fairly primitive and stay in their own planet."

Pavenmeyer's eyes nearly bugged out, "There are a dozen species out there?"

"Yes, yes, yes; the only logical conclusion. The galaxy loves diversity," the alien glanced at the human gauntlets. "It also seems to prefer incorporations of odd-numbered digits, five and three. Interesting to note." His eyes snapped back up, "But, I digress. Back to the issue at hand. What do you plan to do with us?"

"Ah …." Pavenmeyer fell back helplessly. "I am a xenobiologist, I specialize in non-human life forms. While I am the head researcher for this facility, I don't know what the stuffed-shirts are planning."

"Hmmm, that is disappointing, but also encouraging," the salarian mused. "Clearly a specialization race, indicating tendencies towards industrialization. Probably a separate military chain of command. 'Stuffed-shirt' possibly a military term?"

"I am afraid that for the time being, you and your— ah, friend will be our guests for the indefinite future," Pavenmeyer glided past the nomenclature with an apologetic grin. "As the head researcher, I will be able to ensure your comfort as best as possible. Do you need anything in particular? Since we're on the subject?"

The engineer beside him started scanning the translator, making notes on a paper tablet. "Um, sir, if you could ask the alien, why do they have a map of the galaxy? And what are these markings?"

The alien whipped around fast enough to convince Pavenmeyer that the skeletal structure was not completely bone. It was more than likely cartilage, if the flexibility was to be believed. It stared at the miniature projection, "I'm not an idiot, and have excellent hearing. Ask me personally. Those maps are required for our work. We are a team of explorers, mapping and recording," it said.

Again, if Pavenmeyer had possessed more experience, he would have caught the hesitation. "Explorers, eh? We have some of our own, although not as capable, I'm sure. Don't worry, my government will compensate you for your information."

The engineer spoke up again, "Yeah, the boys down in Propulsion were talking about some crazy idea to make a black hole ship, what with all the eezo these freaks stuffed in their power core."

Pavenmeyer hurriedly directed the salarian towards the exit, away from the engineer, "Well then Tien, let's get to work. We have a lot to learn about each other."

The salarian scooped up the translator, accompanying the human, "Indeed. We have so much to process, so much to learn! This will be exciting!"

* * *

_1) Gelan_ flies: a carnivorous, mildly toxic, winged insect common to Sur'Kesh. The gelan fly uses aerodynamic displays to lure amphibious predators into a swarm of flies. A large enough gelan swarm can kill a full-grown salarian within minutes.

2) Developed by William of Ockham, the decision to accept a hypothesis with the least number of assumptions required. Other hypothesis may be correct, but in the absence of certainty, the simplest explanation should be used. Another version is known as KISS: Keep It Simple, Stupid.

* * *

**A/N: And here you have my very Own Character! I haven't planned to do much with him, but he should show up now and again. After all, the situation changes with minor observations ... and this is one of the most observed games I've ever played :)**

**The pace should be rolling along now, and the time-skips will be a good deal shorter. I have to write faster, my cushion is a lot less now than it was when i first started publishing this; I may have to push back the publish dates a week ... but I hate doing that, lol.**

**The ASI conference went very well; much was learned, and I think I have a few ideas for getting ME1 rolling. Hopefully, that won't take too long, but you never know :(**

**Thanks, as always to Nightstride; I do not own Mass Effect in any way, shape or form. Except for the part where I parted with a lot of money to play them on my computer, I own that part.**


	7. Chapter 7: First Contact part II

_That was one of the happiest moments of my life. Years of preparation, accumulated work from thousands of years of human history, all focused on one individual. I tried to be responsible about it, to educate my guests even as they attempted to give me the same gift._

_Then, responsibility became a burden._

_Yet that burden would eventually become a critical tool in the survival of my race, and of the other races with whom we shared this universe._

_~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD _

_Project __Ragnarök Files_

* * *

_._

[Unknown Location]

Salcha, STG

After his first exchange with the human researcher, Salcha had to reconsider his previous assumptions. Not about their intellect, which was high, nor their manners, which were excellent, but for their technological state. He had initially considered humans to be highly primitive for their reliance on mental calculations, not VI's. Now he knew better.

_They were just naïve, and their computers were stupid._

In exchange for the salarians' backup translation device, and as a token of goodwill, Dr. Pavenmeyer had given them a crate. He'd claimed it contained a computer loaded with data on humanity. Upon opening the crate however, Salcha and his pilot Ramke had only found a machine of nanocomposites and metal particles.

From an engineering standpoint (he had a degree in electrical engineering), it had a beautiful design. The various buttons were easy to interpret, the image quality was superb, but there was something a little … off.

It didn't _think_. While that may have been a bit of an overstatement (only an Artificial Intelligence truly claimed to think), a human computer couldn't process data in an organic manner … at all.

Certainly, the human computer possessed vast quantities of information: terabytes of texts and images he scanned within the hour. But it had no organized framework for organizing his searches. Every time Salcha wanted to cross-reference something, he had to stop and either create a whole new document, or open a previously made document. Even if he'd already made a new document (no great task, but repetitive), there was no way to merge separate documents without going through a tedious amount of work.

Finding things on the human machine required an innate knowledge of how an alien mind worked; no real problem for a xenologist, but the way this computer behaved … it was primitive. It was like taking a spectro-analysis by burning a material with a candle instead of using a laser. Effective, yes, but crude.

Yet to his surprise, Salcha witnessed humans using the computers with great speed and agility. Windows opened and closed, symbols scrolled across blank screens with impressive alacrity. What was even more impressive was how their five-digit hands demonstrated their full potential by flying across a complex keypad. Asari had been using salarian tech for so long, they'd almost eliminated the original software systems invented on Thessia. Salarian tech had adapted quickly to the asari physiology but it had never quite mastered the five-finger orientation. After observing how quickly these excess-digit-possessing humans were able to input data, Salcha mused that particular innovation may have been a mistake.

Salarian computers had a much less complicated input system, too. The VI's they used were pre-programmed in several modes, the better to anticipate data. While he had been on the _Deep Explorer_, he'd been able to multi-task writing, recording and holding conversations all at once just by connecting his personal omni-tool to the ships VI. The VI had read the data from his omni-tool, and organized it into several charts and spreadsheets while he typed. The reports he'd written had conformed to a template, allowing the VI to send all relevant data as soon as an opening had appeared. It had been a fairly well-known fact that some … adept … salarians required fairly pricey VI's in order to keep up with their input rates.

Humans input all that data manually.

Their security was laughably easy to penetrate, though. When he'd remotely hacked a mainframe for the _Aitan_ cannon specs as a roaming Operative before being captured, he'd assumed that the security had been caught offline for upgrades. _No one has such weak firewalls intentionally; STG may have the best, but even the least capable programmer would have known how to establish better security._

But if this computer was an example of human electronic security, his previous analysis was incorrect. _They simply don't know how to guard their systems while simultaneously possess one of the most refined analysis minds I've ever seen. Definitely on par with the asari, almost … salarian._

Ramke was unhelpful with his observations. While both of them were young, Ramke was still only seventeen, two years younger than himself. The knowledge that the new species seemed to have a military capacity equivalent to a lesser Council Race, combined with realization that Captain Tien was dead, had hit him hard. He would need a few more hours before becoming productive once more.

* * *

[Redacted System]

Dr. Pavenmeyer

Pavenmeyer watched the two aliens inside their cage. He had conflicting thoughts about keeping them incarcerated, they had done nothing _wrong_ to his knowledge. _Keeping them prisoner without evidence of their having committed crimes is … criminal._

On the one hand, they were definitely evading Alliance police forces. On the other hand, it was possible the aliens thought the humans were going to cook and eat them without salt; that would drive anyone to desperate measures. He sighed, in the end, it wasn't his decision. All he could do was try to make them as comfortable as possible.

Well, only partially. _My primary objective is to extract as much information as possible, but I prefer to be decent about it._ He had orders direct from the Prime Minister to obtain as much data as humanly possible, to which end, he had been given free rein in how he dealt with the aliens. That effectively left him in charge of the facility. _At least until the military decided he wasn't going fast enough._ In essence, Pavenmeyer was as close to being a dictator as was legally possible. If he decided the proper study of the aliens required a metric ton of gold, it was his for the asking. If he believed that the base needed a full symphonic orchestra, he would have one inside a week, despite the secrecy around the base.

But … a different idea was forming in his mind. After studying their vessel and reading through the data their ship had given up, he had slowly developed a mental picture of what these aliens were like.

These Salarians, as their codex depicted them, were highly intelligent but short-lived amphibians. Their species had a gift for investigation and invention, something Pavenmeyer had witnessed for himself. The two guests had already hacked into the computer he'd given them and rapidly gone through its contents. By now, if their memory was any good, they knew everything a human could know from a basic set of _Encyclopedia Britannica_, with certain portions redacted of course.

The idea, hovering in the back of his mind sprang to the forefront, completely developed. That's why he was in charge of the facility, after all, for his ability to plan.

_Best of all, it just might work._

* * *

[Unknown Location]

Salcha, STG

The human researcher entered their confinement chamber with a broad smile on his face. Immediately, Salcha felt a rush of endorphins_; a happy jailer could be a kind one, and a kind jailor would permit a large number of helpful activities._

"Salcha, I have some news for you!" Dr. Pavenmeyer called to him.

The salarian scientist left off his most recent test of the computer and gave his full attention to the human. "What is it?" he asked.

"I have been authorized to bargain with you, to learn what I can about the other races from your experiences." Pavenmeyer said. He gestured at the walls, "Unfortunately, I can't let you go free, but I will see to it you receive better quarters than this. It's obvious you do not have any biological contaminants, so you should be safe enough in a lower security room."

Salcha looked at the luxuriously thick padding on the cot, and the hygienically clean walls. _What could this human be offering?_

"Hmmm, I accept. But, perhaps, we could move later? I have a great many questions about your people." He tried mirroring the humans' asari-like smile, "The more I know about your people, the better I can explain another, you know."

"Of course! Of course!" The human waved aside the query as inconsequential, "Shall we begin?"

"A question, for a question." Salcha responded.

* * *

[Redacted Location]

Pavenmeyer

That first day, the exchange of information lasted over ten hours. It would have lasted longer if Pavenmeyers' leg hadn't gone to sleep. The salarian had been so distraught about causing "circulatory inhibition issues" that he'd been forced to call a break in their discussions.

It was a good time, anyway, he had to send all the information he'd collected to Analysis asap. To his astonishment, and an increased chance of a migraine, he found out he would also be briefing the Prime Minister.

_"Doctor. What do you have for me?"_ Prime Minister Thompson didn't mince words.

"Prime Minister, thank you for calling. I didn't think my report could have been processed so quickly." Pavenmeyer tried to appear alert, but he'd been up for over thirty hours straight. Matching wits with an alien that seemed to have a computer for a brain didn't help his mental state.

_"I haven't read it yet, a report won't tell me what I want to know."_ The Minister shifted slightly, fixing the doctor with a gimlet stare. _"I want your opinion. Did we just kidnap some sort of intergalactic royalty? Are we in danger of invasion? Talk to me."_

Pavenmeyer exhaled slowly. "That's … a difficult question. As near as I can tell, they are just explorers. The older one, Salcha, is a xenologist while the younger one is a pilot. The dead alien was their leader; we were a bit unfortunate there. So no, they aren't royalty, and it does not appear they will have search parties combing our space for them. The short answer to the rest of your question is: depends."

The old mans' eyes sharpened, _"On what?"_

"Apparently, there are around a half-dozen species out there, with the main power centered on three or four of them. The asari, turians, salarians, volus and elcor would be in the top five, while another species called the hanar share a world with another species called the drell. There is some kind of relationship between the two, something about one rescuing the other from overpopulation or something? It's in my report."

Minister Thompson squinted to one side, _"And their militaries? Is there anything available or did they destroy everything before you got to it?"_

Pavenmeyer sighed, cudgeling his memory for more pertinent data. "The biggest military out there belongs to the turians. Salcha has stated the turians possess over forty thousand war ships, and their ships codex mentioned a … Treaty of Farinex? Anyway, it limits the various species military to a certain number of large ships-of-war. The turians get the most for some reason, while the asari and salarians get the next highest proportion. All other races are allowed one fifth of what the turians have."

The prime minister snorted derisively. _"I'm sure that's worked wonderfully. Just look at the Washington Naval Treaty back after the first World War. I suppose this 'Council' has figured out how to ban pocket battleships and carriers as well?"_

Pavenmeyer fidgeted, that had been close to his own reaction. "That's the odd thing, Mr. Minister. This treaty … it was signed during the American Revolution. 1780, to be precise. It's still in effect."

The line went completely silent. Minister Thompson stared at him with an expression similar to a stunned carp; mouth open and eyes slightly glazed.

Pavenmeyer politely gave him a moment to recover.

_"So what you're saying is … these races out there have been existing in a static state for centuries?"_

"More than a few centuries, according to what I've learned. The asari, whom have a multi-century lifespan, made first contact with the Salarians in 500 BC. That's when the first Council was founded, and when the Citadel Council became an organized governing system."

Thompson nodded grimly._ "So we're the newcomers, and they will want us to play by their rules, am I right?"_

"That … could be one possible interpretation …." Pavenmeyer said cautiously.

_"Well, I'm all for cooperation, but not when it's one-sided. How many warships did you say these turians had?"_ Thompson switched back.

"The salarian claims over forty thousand. Erring on conservative estimates, I would guess they had over fifty thousand, maybe sixty."

_"And we have less than twenty thousand …." _Minister Thompson mused. He glared at his hands, as if they were guilty of unspeakable crimes.

_"All right then. I am going to tell you something that no one else knows or will know for an indefinite period. I have ordered a secret shipyard be created, for weapon testing and development. I will be approving any request for resources, but I want everything you have found so far. Copies will be sent to that area."_

Pavenmeyer straightened, despite his headache. _What does that have to do with me? _"Yes sir. Is there anything I should look for in particular?"

_"Military capabilities. Weapons specs. How the different species get along with each other, and what their stance is on allowing sovereign entities remain that way."_

"Sir, I must point out I have little to no experience in military matters. Our guests could be—"

_"Immaterial. The second part of this secret is that you are going to be heading a new special information cell. It will be outside the usual authority chain. Your orders come straight from the top, and designated successors only."_ The aged man paused to consider for a moment. _"It still needs a name. Something that compels wariness, for an organization that sees everything yet is only truly seen by a select few. Never mind, we'll pick something out. Do you understand your assignment?"_

Pavenmeyer shook his head. "Something about a shipyard, finding information on alien military and politics, and that I will be a spymaster?"

The Prime Minister snorted. _"Consider it your current role, only expanded tenfold. Instead of one base, you will oversee as many as are needed; I will send you a highly trusted individual to help organize your expanded role, Armistan Banes. For now, consider yourself in charge of that base, above anything that the military already has present or brings in. That will be all."_

The screen dimmed to the usual transparent shade, leaving a very puzzled man to ponder what had once been a quiet occupation.

* * *

[Redacted Location]

Salcha

"What can you tell me about this medi-gel?" the salarian asked.

Pavenmeyer hauled his attention back to the thin alien. "Med-gel? That was developed by John Sirta. He was a Swiss geneticist a few years back."

"But _how_ did he develop it?" Salcha persisted, "It seems a marvelous invention."

"So far as I understand it, Mr. Sirta discovered a method for creating genetic copying, using element zero as a catalyst for stem-cell modification. Smear some med-gel on an injured area, and it creates cells based on copies of the genetic coding as well as an anesthetic compound to minimize pain."

"You mean to say you genetically engineered a medical aid?"

Pavenmeyer nodded absently. "That would've been about 2114, back when Phillip Cord founded the Cord Shipbuilders Corporation. A lot of good beginnings in that decade."

There was a silence that the human didn't notice at first. When it lasted over thirty seconds, he glanced at the salarian, then stopped. The salarian was staring at him as if he had lost his senses.

"What?"

"Your people experiment on genes themselves? That can lead to a thousand horrors! The_ Misfit Wars_ of my own people arose because of—"

Pavenmeyer waved his hand calmingly, "We passed the Sudahm-Wolfcott Genetic Heritage Act back in 2151. We only allow genetic experimentation under highly stringent restrictions, and provide federal subsidies for the programs that give the most benefit."

Salcha shuddered. The idea of a species still experimenting on their own genes … it was something out of _Kalamorph_ _Tales_ (1). If Pavenmeyer was any judge, the salarian was revising his opinion on the human threat level.

"Well," Pavenmeyer changed the subject, "I have one question for you before we get on." He pulled a picture from a pocket, "We discovered this vessel in orbit around our largest planet, Jupiter. Can you tell me anything about this?"

The salarian took the piece of colored paper, flexing it between his triple digits. "Interesting texture, high resolution, a hardcopy of an image? A very secure method of information transmission, can't be hacked or sabotaged electronically."

"The ship, I mean." Pavenmeyer had learned patience while dealing with the Salarians. He needed it now.

"This? It's a standard volus shuttle, a rather common manufacture. How did it end up here?"

Pavenmeyer shrugged, "No idea. I'll have to look into it. Anyway, I requested an example of human culture for your entertainment, and I believe you will enjoy this."

"What is it?" Salcha asked. He was still a little surprised, but willing to move on for now.

"This base has a small musical ensemble that plays on occasion. I asked them to play a few of their favorites for the two of you, and they accepted. It won't be a true concert I'm afraid, but they are willing to show you their best."

"Of course we accept, I am eager to hear whatever your people are willing to offer. Are there any rules of which we should be aware?" Salcha asked eagerly.

* * *

Salcha

Salcha watched intently. _If these humans are as potentially powerful as they seem, it is critical to make a good impression._ He scowled inwardly, _Admit it. You just want to sample as much human culture as possible._ That was a moot point. He _was_ a xenologist by trade after all, and had been given very little to satiate his professional curiosity. _Well, nothing except a few paltry encyclopedia entries and a few discussions with one person. An in-depth investigation would uncover a great deal more!_

The humans sat in chairs arrange in a large semicircle. One human, standing in the middle of the semicircle, waved a small white rod in vaguely mathematical patterns. The seated humans played their instruments in surprisingly logical patterns, repeating sequences in different rhythms, timbres and cadences a number of times before taking the original pattern and creating a brand new sequence.

Salcha sneaked a look at Ramke. The younger salarians' eyes were closed, and his fingers twitched in rhythm. _Good. The poor boy needs comfort where he can get it._

He turned to Dr. Pavenmeyer, "Who wrote this music? It sounds almost salarian."

Pavenmeyer smiled, "This is by Johann Sebastian Bach, one of his _Brandenburg_ _Concertos_."

Salcha was surprised, "You mean he used the same name for multiple works?"

"Bach wrote an entire series of six concertos like this over a period of a few years. The man for whom he wrote _these_ didn't appreciate music as well as he might have, and never bothered to have them played. After he died, the music was sold and stored in the Brandenburg archives, where they were later rediscovered, hence their name." Pavenmeyer listened as a particularly difficult passage glided from the violinists' strings. "Most musicians, myself included, believe these to be some of the best musical pieces ever written."

Salcha considered this explanation. "Then he was a truly gifted composer. I can hear over three different mathematical patterns in the instrumentation. Was this Bach a scientist?"

"Better." Pavenmeyer still had his eyes closed. "He was a master of composition."

Salcha watched the human relax for the first time since they'd met this afternoon. _Something has changed_, he thought. _The human is much more tense now, even more so than when we first met._

Mentally, he shrugged. There was nothing he could do. Best to sit back and enjoy the experience.

* * *

Notes:

1) _Kalamorph Tales_: a classic salarian myth about a magician who discovered how to blend animals together. At first it was mere humor, a squeaking _menthala_ or a winged _jiga_. But then, the magician started binding the traits of animals to living people, and forcing them to do his bidding. He later became known as the Kalamorph, the magician who went mad with power, who was just as likely to help as hinder you. Many stories held him as either the villain or hero. He supposedly singlehandedly helped establish a wise dalatrass as one of the greatest lines, but he was also known for inflicting a curse upon the entire salarian people, subtly shortening their lives which they would not discover until it was too late.

* * *

**A/N: This was one of the longest chapters this fic has received to date! It isn't **_**the**_** longest I've written, but it's still pretty decent, at least to my mind :)**

**Next, I would like to thank all the readers and reviewers. Your comments help refine this work. I mean, this story grew by two chapters because of **_**one**_** comment. Think about is :]**

**Now, updates. College will be starting for me in three weeks, which means I will be super busy. I think I can finish this story before then, and continue posting chapters during the semester. If not, I will certainly notify y'all on how it's going, and what to expect. However, rest assured that I love this story, and will keep writing it, even if I can't post it immediately. It **_**will**_** be posted, on my word as a writer and student.**

**Thanks to Nightstride for his beta assistance, and to BioWare for making this possible. No thanks to Bioware for a lousy ME3 ending. I do not own Mass Effect.**


	8. Chapter 8: Batarian Contact I

_Five-and a-half years. That's how long we had. Sixty some months to enhance our entire fleet, prepare nearly forty colonies, and fortify Earth. The information from the Salarians gave us enough insight to create what would become our greatest weapon: the Hawking Engine. I was proud to have been responsible, in some little fashion, for its creation._

_But we needed more. We had been in space less than a century, and we would be facing civilizations that had been pondering FTL drives since Shakespeare was an infant. So we built. We planned. And were completely blindsided when a uncontrolled First Contact occurred._

_~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD _

_Project __Ragnarök Files_

* * *

November 21st, 2155

[Alliance Space]

_Revenge_: A dish best served cold. An old Assyrian proverb, handed down and attributed to dozens of different people throughout the epochs, including the current age.

Now, the saying was being attributed to the current Prime Minister, and to every colony in the Outer Systems. All the information known could be reduced to a single sentence on one data pad: Non-humans (species: _batarian_) had made First Contact, and not peacefully.

Technically, it was a Second Contact situation, but John Q. Public didn't care about that. The salarian guests were still housed comfortably in their isolated station/prison under the auspices new Cerberus chief Pavenmeyer, and were happily reading everything they had been given. The younger one had even taken to composing music for human instruments, and had been given a guitar for his personal use.

Their guests had been treated kindly, and given almost everything they wished. Salarian Explorers Salcha and Ramke had no reason to lie … which made their information on the batarians all the more terrifying. Their explanations made shivers go down the Prime Minister's spine. According to the explorers, batarians were brutal slavers, ruthless combatants caring little for anything but personal gain; greed personified on two legs.

The situation had been made even worse with a single fact: batarians had struck first, utterly destroying several colonies in a coordinated assault. The largest colony to have been hit, Troy, had been growing steadily thanks to the mineral rich asteroid field nearby. Even if _only_ Troy had been taken, the logistics for transporting three thousand lives was difficult in the best of circumstances. Conquering and transporting so many unwilling people in less than three days showed ingenuity. The alien bodies left behind still holding their weapons, showed either a lack of pity, internecine fighting, or a hurried itinerary ... with an excess of resources. They were truly a foe to be feared.

Such an attack was pointed directly at the Alliance. This was a decision even the top executive officer of the Alliance could not make on his own; it had to be put to the people. Their reaction was clear.

Military response was the only possible answer; whomever had taken the people of Troy were clearly willing to wage war to do so. In the words of President Pro-Tempore Rascallion, "If you can't protect your own, especially your weak, you are not worthy of having anything to protect."

In one of the rare examples of true unity, both representative Houses in Parliament voted for war. In accordance to long-standing tradition, one man from each house abstained. Truly unanimous votes were reserved either for complete and utter warfare, for peace, or for votes of no-confidence.

Resources were sent to the Martian Shipyards and the major parts-production facilities within Alliance Space. Donations were offered by the truckload to create a staggering number of Mass Cannon rounds. As a point of pride, the engineers in charge of producing the largest shells engraved the names of the lost on their handiwork, one per shell. The engineers ran out of names before they had finished their production run.

The fleet itself would have taken months to complete, even with the latest in construction-stations over Mars. However, the colonies were united in more than just ideology. Each had started their existence as resource gathering colonies, each constructing their own Forge construction station to help boost industry. Consequently, the labor required to build a vessel of war was spread across the thirty-odd planets, and the cost was balanced with the willing help of an entire population. A project that should have taken months instead turned into weeks.

Ships were assembled to supplement the existing fleets; cruisers of the sensor, battle and missile classes were built next to destroyers. There were even a few dreadnoughts being constructed along with a pair of battleships being created as flagships.

However, that was not all. The colonies, enraged by the loss of their colleagues, took resources they'd stockpiled and forged them into a brand new fleet.

The new fleet was given a code-name _Revenge_, the first fleet constructed almost completely by civilian direction. It should be noted, however, that in this time the Alliance government was not yet capable of successfully compelling obedience in all of its members. After this show of cooperation, it would remain hesitant to restrict the colonies capacity in the future.

In two months, the colonies and Martian shipyards had constructed three Martel class and two Wrath class battleships. There was also enough material to build a pair of dreadnoughts, and over a dozen support cruisers and destroyers.

For crew, the Alliance loaned training officers, helping the volunteers learn their positions and roles. A streamlined version of Basic Training was created and implemented, rapidly filling the vacancies of the new fleet, although there was still a gap that had to be filled by volunteer servicemen and women.

Rear-Admiral Koenig volunteered his services for command, taking the SSV Odysseus as his flagship. Several captains with experience in deep-space also volunteered, most notably Captain Stephen Hackett, the young prodigy. Captain Hackett was given the SSV _Matterhorn_, a dreadnought class ship. He had been offered the Martel class battleship _Hercules_, but had turned it down in favor of "something smaller I know I can handle."

The fleet was rounded out with a carrier and her escorts on loan from the 2nd Fleet. There was a small amount of rivalry between the carrier contingent and the rest of the fleet, at least for the first few weeks. After the Battle of Kar'Shan, however, the entire fleet had nothing but the greatest of respect for each other.

While building a fleet from scratch may have been difficult, one of the more tedious tasks was finding a target for that fleet. The only clue was the bodies and the fact that the missing station would have turned on its emergency transponder.

* * *

January 10th, 2156

Troy Forge station, _Amenities_

[Unknown location]

_"In the name of the Hegemony, you are ordered to lower your shields, and surrender."_

The voice was harsh, demanding. It sounded as if its owner had gargled sulfuric acid before breakfast.

"Don't answer it." Friedrichs snapped.

The engineering staff obeyed him … which was good. The vocabulary of an entire team of angry mechanics could be … colorful.

_"Lower your shields or we'll blow through them!"_ the angry voice returned. _"Do not try my patience!"_

One of the mechanics snorted, "I don't think he had any to begin with."

Friedrich tacitly agreed, "How are those scans coming, Beth?"

"We have a full stellar analysis ready, and are 67% done with the ECM analysis," she responded. Both of her hands flew across the controls, "It looks like we're thirty light-years away from Troy."

"Keep scanning. When we get rescued, the brass'll want as much data as possible." Friedrich clenched his fists. "I hope they paste these—"

_"You have to the count of five."_Interrupted the alien. _"One."_

"You think maybe we should try talking to them?" asked a young mechanic.

_"Two."_

"They won't risk destroying this station." Friedrich promised.

_"Three."_

"Chief, the boarding ships are moving away, pretty quick."

_"Four."_

Friedrich made a snap decision. He flipped the icon to transmit, and projected as much confidence as he could, "Alien scum, this is Chief mechanic Friedrich Schmidt, of the station _Amenities_. Return this station and all the colonists you have taken, or we will call the wrath of God on your heads."

He snapped the icon off, looking up to see varied expressions among his crew. Some looked stunned, while others seemed … underwhelmed.

"Um, was threatening them the best idea, sir?" one of the more aged mechanics asked.

Friedrich shrugged, "Either they blow us up for not cooperating, or they blow us up for threatening them. Either way, we're dead. Might as well go out spittin' in their eye."

That got a few chuckles.

_"Captain … Schmidt, you don't have the capacity to call down the wrath of a Teka fighter, let alone some mystical deity. Surrender now, and we will let you live."_

Friedrich laughed, looking at his mechanics. They were grimacing; one had a pistol he'd been building in his spare time, pantomiming a shot across the bow. Friedrich turned back to the communicator.

"Alien demon, you can't possibly be as stupid as you look. We heard what our people were screaming down on Troy. We had communications with them, right until they were murdered. When you blew apart the kindergarten building, we heard the children die. When you gunned down old Mayor Jeffrey, we heard you call it a 'lesson in humility'." Don't embarrass yourself any further, we know what you do."

The alien voice came back angry, yet calm. _"You know what we did to your people? Do you know what fate we have planned for such a weak species? You are puling animals fit only to serve your betters. We are superior; generous to allow you to serve us."_

The chief mechanic toggled the switch again, putting as much disdain into his voice as possible. "Sing another song, fraulein. This one is getting old."

The other voice snarled. _"We will give you one hour to surrender. Until then, enjoy this transmission of your people. Consider it a taste of future activities."_

The view changed, depicting a human stripped of most of his clothing, curled in a fetal position on the floor. Several of the spiky aliens were beating him. Screams of rage and pain blasted into the room, piercing in quality.

Friedrich quickly hit the mute. It was too late, the crew was looking green already.

"Are they …." Beth started in a hushed voice. She fell silent when Friedrich nodded once, jerkily.

Someone cursed. It wasn't a vehement expression of anger, but all the more dangerous for its suppressed emotion.

"Chief," it was the linguist specialists, quietly monitoring her board. "What if we managed to get someone out of the station? Do you think we could get a signal out faster?"

"I won't risk any of my crew," Friedrich instantly squashed the idea. "We're valuable to the Alliance. To humanity."

"Yes sir," she responded meekly, "but part of being human means to try every possibility. Regardless of cost. We have to try, sir."

That set him back a bit. Tina had been one of the quiet ones, he should have seen this coming. Still, she had never voiced much of an opinion before, just completed her work with efficiency. She had a good point….

"All right, I want ideas. Brainstorm and get back to me in fifteen minutes," he clapped in the time-honored tradition of pit chiefs everywhere. "Let's get this done, people!"

* * *

January 18th, 2156

Hawking Eta system

_SSV_ _Matterhorn_

Captain Hackett read his reports. He wrote others, condensing what he had learned, then attached the other reports to his own before sending it on.

The dreadnought hummed with power. It had been built with the new Hawking engine modifications, dedicating portions of the new Element Zero mines to power his whim. It was an awesome responsibility: one command from himself or his superiors could lay waste to a city with a single volley. Given enough time, he could destroy an entire world.

"Sir, the hangars are reporting a malfunction on the port-side docking clamps," An ensign handed him yet another report.

"Hmmm, what's the repair estimate?" Hackett ignored the report, going directly to the source.

"Maintenance says it's a software glitch, but they'll debug it inside two hours," the ensign saluted, preparing to leave.

Hackett handed the report back, "Tell them to get in contact with the _Hercules_ techs. I heard they had a similar issue yesterday. With any luck, we can resolve this problem inside ten minutes."

"Yes, sir. Um, sir?" the ensign had the look of the mouse that had been selected to bell the cat.

The captain nodded, "Yes, ensign?"

"Um, well, sir, some of the others…I mean I'm wondering myself, but we're all wondering…it's been over two weeks. When will we find out what happened?"

Hackett gave the young sailor an understanding smile. Somehow, the midshipmen always assumed a captain would know. It was a trust he honored to the best of his ability. "I know it's hard to wait. But…" he lowered his voice, "I wouldn't count on waiting too much longer." He gestured meaningfully at the report. It was only the latest in a now-dwindling series of malfunction reports, "It would be bad to suffer such a major malfunction in the middle of battle, would it not?"

The ensign looked startled, then thoughtful. Then he saluted once more, with appreciation written on his features, "No sir, I guess it wouldn't. Don't worry, we're all behind you, sir!"

Hackett returned the salute crisply, "I never had any doubts."

As the ensign hurried away, Hackett returned to scanning the projected map in his war room. He didn't really believe the brass would put the Revenge fleet through a lot of make-work. He had a more personal reason for what he believed. He frowned as the twinge in his gut made itself felt again…it was what made him what he was, what gave him that extra edge. And now, that instinct was prompting him to prepare for a fight. In later years, with more experience, he hoped he would be able to isolate the factors that his subconscious picked up, hinting at the future. Until he attained that formidable gift, he would unfortunately only be able to use it as a near-precognitive talent.

"Commander Wickum," he signaled his second. "Make certain the shields are all ready to go to full power. I want them able to take a pounding as of yesterday. Understood?"

The commander nodded assent. "You feel something, Captain?" he asked cautiously. Hackett's reputation had permeated the entire vessel.

Hackett stared at the map grimly, "Something's coming. Something big. We'll be ready."

* * *

January 20th, 2156

Troy Forge station _Amenities_

"It's been _how_ long?" Friedrich asked, unbelieving.

"Two months, give or take, sir," the tech answered solemnly. "The recordings suggest we were in transit for a month and a half, then another week settling into orbit in this system."

"Blasted suspended sleep," Friedrich muttered. "We could have been on the alert a lot sooner."

"I don't know, sir." The techie shrugged, "This way, we've recorded a week's worth of broadcast data from that planet, and they think there's only a few of us here."

A loud crashing noise, followed by someone cursing in his native language emanated from the storage center.

"Apropos of nothing, how is project _Trojan_ going?" Friedrich stifled a smile.

"Well, if the sound of Sven is any indication, not very well."

More sounds of frustrated metal came up the hall. The timbre and frequency of repetition gave the illusion that someone was kicking something.

Friedrich jogged towards the noise. The cursing had stopped finally, but the pounding sound was still going.

Rounding the corner, he saw the large Norwegian energetically wielding a hammer large enough to dent a shuttle. Just to one side Tina, as if in a comic counterpart, was using a pair of tongs to hold red-hot metal in place. Both were concentrating, working quickly on one of the Hephaestus class power armor. Fabricating a new part would have required programming a new item into the systems, and even more time to actually create parts, which could take hours; time that could be better spent creating already-programmed parts for ship repair.

Friedrich waited until the metal cooled, then moved into their sight line, "How's it going?" he asked.

Sven turned. When someone of his mass started pounding, it stayed pounded, "Hilsener, sjef." He gestured at the armor. _"Jeg kan ikke love perfeksjon, men det går bra."_

Tina piped up, "He said hello, then that the work goes well, if not perfectly."

The mechanic chief stared at the formerly proud set of armor. The smooth lines were now jagged, hammered out into bulges making a parody of its former pristine beauty, "What have you done with her?"

Tina smiled, "Well, when we decided to set up a signal booster, we thought putting together a bomb would be a good idea. So long as we were making one, we wanted to make it as big as possible." She stroked a loving hand along the scarred patina, "Sven here had another idea." She glanced back at the large man. He nodded. Mountains changed expression more easily than he did. "Sven suggested that two sets of armor be used. The outer set would have most of the explosives and the transmitter, while the inner set would have a second set of explosives. When we send someone out, he can take off the outer set after priming it, then get as close to the head alien as possible with the inner set."

Friedrich stepped back, horrified, "You're talking suicide bombing? Never, I'm calling this off!"

Tina looked surprised. "It's not suicide, we have every—"

Friedrich ignored her, sending the commands to shut down the storage room. But just before his hand slapped the final control set on the wall, a massive hand swallowed his forearm in an iron grasp. He followed the arm back to its owner. Big Sven, who had a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Nei, Friedrich." The Norwegian motioned behind his back, "Tina, vennligst la oss være i fred i noen minutter?"

Tina shrugged, "I have to translate, you know. You can babble at him all you want, but he won't understand anything you say."

Sven glared, then carefully articulated his next words, "Tina … please."

She left the room without a word.

Friedrich waited until the door closed, "Just what do you think you're doing, Sven? You can't throw away your life like this!"

Sven released his hold and sighed, "Herre Friedrich … I … not … hate … life. But … know … facts. As … you … should," he held up one finger. "Første: we … alone. This …know. No … signa l…, no … kolonister." He held up a second finger. "Sekund:… onde demoner…never…release. Seen…records. These…" he searched for a word, "onde men…respect …fear. They … not … fear … us, they … see us … weak." He flashed a broad smile, "I … show … we … sterk!"

"Killing yourself isn't the answer, Sven." Friedrich put a hand on his face, sighing in exasperation. "It only loses us a man, and would make these aliens distrust us even more. How do we even know what they want?"

Sven's expression turned ugly, "Idioter ønsker makt. Money. Things. I … see… messages. Bad … men … kill … man … for sport. Good … men … kill … when … must." His large hand clapped the smaller mans' back, nearly toppling the chief mechanic, "I … not … try … die, but … I ready."

Friedrich stopped, "You … what?"

The other man nodded slowly. "I go. I … have … no … family. I … know … die, maybe. But … better … me … die … giving … message. Better … die for … friends … than … cowardice."

The chief stared at nothing, thinking. They truly needed to do something, and frankly, sending someone who knew the risks was better by far.

"All right, but I'm taking the message," he jutted his chin out, "Chief orders."

Then the lights turned off.

* * *

January 21st, 2156

Revenge Fleet

_"All ships, this is Admiral Koenig. We have received a transmission from the missing station. One of our scout frigates has reported the signal, and we're sending two more to triangulate the source. Remember, we've been avoiding the colonies we've seen so far, but when we reach the Troy station, we will give the Batarians one chance to surrender. If they do not, may God have mercy on their souls. Koenig over and out."_

Hackett felt the weight lift from his shoulders. The waiting was over.

"Battle stations," He ordered. "Shields to full, get that FTL drive on standby mode. I want us ready to jump on a moments' notice!"

His XO jumped to it, sending a stream of orders through the main computer. The man had a smug expression, as if he were personally proud of having been warned days in advance.

The progress reports flowed around the room, but Hackett couldn't help noticing a few awed expressions. Inwardly, he grimaced; he'd been right again.

* * *

January 21st, 2156

Troy Forge station _Amenities_

Sound echoed through the caverns. Voices, he was sure, but which ones, and where? He could dimly make out Tina chattering at someone, and the sound of a few aliens barking in their language. There were uneven rocking sensations too, jolting at odd moments.

Slowly, he realized he was sitting in a corner of the bridge. The noises were his crew, coordinating the power flow for the shields.

"What's happening?" he tried not to slur. But it felt like he'd been on a week-long bender.

"Chief's awake. Tina, fill him in," his second was still there, then. But what was going on?

Movement, Tina was crouching to his level, "Sir, can you hear me, sir?"

He made an exasperated noise. "I have a headache, Tina, not a sudden case of idiocy. What the hell happened here?"

Tina winced, "Well, after you hit your head, Sven put on the armor and signaled the aliens that he wanted to talk to their chief. They said he could surrender from where he was, and he said if they didn't take him to their chief, he'd blow up the station and they'd get a lot of scrap metal for their trouble."

Friedrich felt a bruise on the side of his face, "I hit something, huh? With what, a tractor?"

Svens' voice came over the communicator, camera view shuddering slightly_,"Du, troll, har ingen oppførsel. Snakk bedre, eller jeg vil snu hodet i en bolle lutefisk..."_

Tina giggled, but before she could translate, a new voice spoke.

_"You, alien, hew-mon. Surrender your vessel to me, or die."_

_"Hvis du er lederen som stjal fra oss, er jeg kongen av Sverige."_

The gravel-voiced alien sounded confused_,"Is that a surrender? Give me the codes to access your station, and tell your crew to stand down."_

Svens' voice came back in a baritone growl, _"Jeg vil verken overgi seg, og heller ikke gi deg mitt folk. Vis meg din leder deg gutless. Eller jeg vil drepe deg og alle på dette skipet."_

The alien narrowed two of his eyes, the lower set. The upper set stared covetously at the armor Sven wore, _"Take off that armor and put your hands behind your neck. This is your last warning hew—"_

By the sound of it, Sven had taken a step. Alien voices gibbered something, then there was a sudden crashing of metal and a choking sound.

_"I…warrior, son…of…warriors. Master…of…metal. Bring…me…chief, or…fat…fool…dies."_

There was silence for several seconds. Friedrich held his breath. Then a burst of gunfire ended any hope he had. There was a confusion of noise, a guttural roaring he couldn't quite place, drowned by the sounds of clattering guns.

"Well, there goes the head chopping idea," he muttered to himself.

Tina grabbed his arm as the noise increased. Steady thumps indicated the survival of their friend. Hoarse screams cut out with a crunching sound that had Friedrich wincing in sympathy.

Finally, there was only hoarse breathing, _"Eller jeg vil drepe deg og alle på dette skipet."_

"He's alive!" Tina released Friedrich's arm, "And…ah…he has control of the bridge," Tina translated, "…he's sorry about the mess?"

Friedrich laughed, feeling better with every second, "Don't worry, just get that signal sent Sven. Then get yourself back over here so I don't have to come after you!"

Booming laughter was his answer.

"Are they trying to take the ship back again?" Friedrich asked.

_"Nei, jeg brutt skroget, og luftslusen. Det blir ingen forsøk."_

Tina flinched. "Sven says he cracked the window, then the airlock. I think he means the ship is open to space."

"Good man." Friedrich felt himself becoming uncharacteristically vicious, "See if you can get that ship to head back towards Alliance space in FTL. If we can send a signal that way, we can get help faster."

"Chief, we have incoming warships. Looks like they're powering weapons." His sensor tech shifted the monitors' viewpoint, "Aaand…some smaller fighters too. At least they look like fighters, possibly boarding shuttles?"

"Hear that, Sven? Hurry up, you're about to have company," Friedrich clenched his hands. It was strange how one could go from tension to tension with almost no break between the two.

_"Nesten ferdig. Jeg bruker kode oversettelser fra sine sendinger, og dette vil ta noen minutter,"_ came the response.

"He's almost done, but he's working with translations from their broadcasts. It will take a minute," Tina translated.

Several tense minutes later, Sven commed again. _"Ferdig. Jeg er tilbake."_

"He's done!" Tina nearly shouted. "Open the hangar doors!"

The station shuddered as the alien ships, batarians the transmissions named them, started firing.

* * *

SSV _Matterhorn_

Captain Hackett stared through the windows. His physical command station was set towards the vessel operators in the bow, enabling him to see what they saw with no time delay. To his mind, the design could have been made more efficient with more use of technology, but then again he'd never been asked to design a war vessel.

The placement issue was moot, anyway. Right now, the crew needed to see him on point, ready for action no matter the location.

"Entering Relay in thirty seconds, sir," the pilot called up to him.

"Stand by for entry," the commanding officer barked. He glanced up at Hackett, "Orders, sir?"

Hackett crossed his arms behind his back, "The Admiral will want to give his warning. If you see any aggressive action, notify me ASAP. Fire on my order, and my order alone."

The light-streaming tunnel faded, giving them their first glimpse of an enemy star system.

It was brutally devoid of what he would call niceties, yet beautiful in its starkness. A sun similar to Sol burned at its center with a series of dead planets orbiting its fire. One of them was a Saturn-like ringed planet in the mid-range. That was the origins of the distress signal.

Admiral Koenig on the Odysseus began broadcasting as soon as it entered the system, using a signal powerful enough to pierce most jammers. At least, the jammers they knew about.

_"Batarian system, you are accused of kidnapping Alliance citizens and stealing from an Alliance colony. Return what you have stolen or face the consequences."_

The bridge of the _Matterhorn_ filled with tension. Hackett glared at the readouts as sensors spooled new data across the screens. The system was crawling with satellites, their readings indicating surveillance models mostly. There was a mass of them orbiting the one garden planet in-system, spread from pole to pole.

"Captain, we have multiple vessels inbound targeting our engines." His CO spun a report off his screen, "Vector indicates they have a base near that gas planet, sir," he looked up. "That's where the station distress signal is coming from."

Hackett tightened his grip on the arms of his chair, "Steady as she goes, the station has waited this long. It can wait a little longer."

The sensors painted more vessels incoming, forming a battle line ten kilometers long. The individual blips betraying the satellites' presence didn't move, however. They probably didn't have drone capacity, unless it was a ruse.

_"This is Admiral Barak: Alien fleet, you are invading sovereign Batarian space. For this crime against the Hegemony, you will surrender your ships and accept servitude to our race. Stand down now and take our generous offer to let you live."_

There was a chorus of growls from Hackett's bridge crew. Evidently, Admiral Koenig agreed with them.

_"Nuts to you, slaver. All ships, fire at will."_

The fleet erupted into action. Frigates and fighters sped ahead of the larger vessels, using their position to simultaneously paint targets for the rest of the fleet and launch attacks of their own.

To the starboard of the _Matterhorn_, a half-dozen Beijing class cruisers started launching their cargos. Dozens of missiles dropped into space then streaked off on a furious charge. One of the cruisers, the _Singapore_, only managed to launch ten missiles, then the launchers jammed, forcing the cruiser to break away from the attack pattern.

Hackett felt a deep satisfaction. It was time to show what a human-built war machine could do.

"Fire." He felt the _Matterhorn_ shudder as the main gun fired. It was his vessels' first shot fired in anger, the first of many, he feared.

* * *

Troy Station _Amenities_

"Chief! We're getting a new transmission, it's from an Admiral Koenig: the Alliance is here!"

Friedrich raised his arms in celebration, joining in the cheers of his crew, "Tina, you and Sven hear that?"

Down from the hanger, Tina called back, "Yes Chief, we heard. And Chief?"

"Yes?"

"Sven wanted to tell you he left the power armor back on that ship. He set it for detonation as soon as the proximity sensors detect anything."

Friedrich felt the vindictive part of himself glow, "Understood. Get to your positions when you can, the fleet will probably want to move us out of here before repairs."

"Got it, Chief."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger, but this chapter was getting far too long, and this seemed to be the best stopping point. Over 5,000 words ... a possible goal, but not what I had originally intended.**

**I also apologize for the early publication; I am currently on the road again (vacation/field work), and do not know if I'll have access to the 'net tomorrow. Consequently y'all get a cliffhanger, with a decidedly AU twist.**

**I would like to thank multiple individuals for their reviews and PM's, including Lachdannen, CN7, and MizDirected. There are more I'd like to thank, but the car is just about loaded, and I have to get rolling. Know that I highly appreciate every review; it's helped me flesh out a ME1 timeline in far less time than I'd anticipated :)**

**Finally, All Hail Nightstride for his beta work!**

**Bioware owns Mass Effect, minus the bits of plastic (for which I paid money) to insert into my computer. For their ME3 ending, may their taxes increase. **


	9. Chapter 9: Batarian Conflict II

_Even with all our research, all our planning, there was one element missing from our surprise attack plans: the surprise. It should be re-emphasized, that the Revenge Fleet was primarily a civilian-run coalition, something thrown together by a large number of scared colonies with more resources than knowledge. The key was how the Alliance provided the knowledge, while the colonies provided the ships and a lot of manpower._

_The end result was a volunteer navy with enough firepower to slag a planet a hundred times over. Overkill to the extreme. Against another regular fleet, that is. Later, we would remember this lesson against a much more powerful foe. This was a learning experience, but not just for humans._

_~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD _

_Project __Ragnarök Files_

* * *

_SSV Matterhorn_

January 21, 2156

The batarians were unprepared, their ships scattered. The _Revenge_ fleet on the other hand, concentrated around the gas giant, was able to bring the full force of their weaponry on all that approached. Every time a batarian ship approached, the Alliance cruisers pushed them back with a hail of missiles and accelerated rounds.

One batarian dreadnought, the _Pride of Varush_, if it's IFF was being truthful, managed to bull its way nto the formation of Wrath class battleships, only to be crushed by their swivel-mounted mass accelerators. Of course, it hadn't helped the alien dreadnought when a trio of Lightning frigates stormed its shields, reducing their effectiveness considerably.

When Captain Hackett widened his awareness to the overall fight, he could see the _Odysseus_ firing its massive spinal cannon at stationary targets half a system away. When the batarians were not sending suicide attacks, the rest of the battleships followed suit. The more damage to the system they could accomplish now, the less organized a resistance would be later.

"Captain," the sensors officer spoke up, "we have an enemy fleet in-system. Looks like they're headed for us, vector two-seven-zero mark five-two starboard."

"Understood, ship status?" Hackett turned back to his comm officer, the "talker" with the rest of the ships crew during a fight.

"No damage yet, their shields are pretty weak but their hulls are pretty tough Captain," Wickum responded. "The batarians have over three hundred ships in the area. If they all are capable of taking the same amount of damage, our shields will be run down too far."

Hackett keyed the command frequency, "Admiral, Hackett here. I recommend accelerating our departure."

"Koenig here. Hackett, you worry too much. We have them on the run!"

Hackett grimaced, "For now, sir. My analysts are telling me the batarian vessels have better armor, and that there are more of them. If they keep this up, we'll lose by attrition, sir."

"Relax, Captain. We'll be long gone before that happens. Keep up the fight!"

Hackett scowled, leaning back in his chair, "Get me the flight coordinator."

He only had to wait a few seconds before the rustic voiced woman appeared on his screen. "What can I do for you Captain?" she asked.

Hackett spent half a moment, thinking carefully, if things went badly, he wanted to be safe. But he also did not want to get his people in trouble. _Blast it, I'll look out for my people first and hang the cost._ "I want all our frigates recalled," he growled at the image. "And yes, I know we have an all-units-order out, I am personally countermanding it. Let me know the moment they're on station."

"Sir, the frigates are currently deployed in a search-and-destroy configuration," the woman checked a clipboard. "All numbers are green right now."

"Recall them," Hackett ordered. "There's almost no resistance out there, we're not making a difference with them."

"Sir, yes sir," the woman saluted, and clicked off.

"This is going to get ugly," Hackett muttered to no one in particular.

* * *

Two hours later

Once again, he was right.

The Alliance fleet was pumping out shells at an incredible rate, clearing a deadly swathe around its position. The return shots were being picked off by the GUARDIAN batteries and failing to penetrate the shields, but the few rounds that did get through had a devastating effect. Two cruisers were down, and half a dozen destroyers were heavily damaged. Life pods were ejecting, but the batarians were … that couldn't be right ….

"Captain!" One of his sensor techs flagged a screen for him, "The batarians! They're firing on our escape pods!"

Hackett checked the screen himself. The survivors of the Dominance, the Indomitable and Invincible were making way for a cruiser at maximum speed. Even as he watched, one of the signals winked out, replaced by hardsuit signals, much more difficult to pick up … and equally less likely to survive.

"Get a frigate out there," he ordered as he checked his board. "The Emancipator is closest. Tell them to save as many as they can. I'll send more as possible."

The operator didn't bother saluting, which suited Hackett fine. Lives were at stake, no time to stand on ceremony.

The methods the batarians were using were…barbaric. They certainly didn't behave as if they feared galactic opinion. firing on escape pods? Humans had done their share of atrocities, but nothing like that in centuries!

Hackett scanned a wider region, looking beyond his assigned zone of control. Everywhere he looked, he saw the signs of bad tactics and poor strategy…what were his people thinking? Those cruisers shouldn't have been extended so far. The dedicated battle cruisers were doing an admirable job of defending the missile cruisers, but without fighter support they were being surrounded. Quickly he sent an order, directing the cruisers to maneuver closer to his own dreadnought.

He shifted zones again, checking on the station that had summoned them to this system. Fortunately, the _Allegiance_ was attaching itself to the station, linking its power core to the Forge stations' power center. That was safe at least.

But…there was a team of frigates playing wolf-pack on the far side of the gas giant. It was dangerous, foolhardy. A frigate may not displace much on the scanner, but all it took was one good hit and they would be cut down. The _Revenge_ _fleet_ was already down by a half-dozen frigates, they didn't have a surplus to just throw away….

"Commander Wickum, get me a tactical readout. I want to send recommendations to the 3rd, 5th and the 7th Battlegroups." Hackett widened his screens' viewpoint.

"Coming your way, Captain."

More men died as he worked, some due to their ships being destroyed under them, but mostly due to the batarians' cowardly tactics. He feverishly increased his pace every time the board pinged out another loss, until finally his solution was complete.

"Send this to the people I've designated as primary recipients," he sent it over to his CO. "What's the status on the Emancipator?"

The tech cleared her throat, "She saved about half the pods, then had to run for it. Two of the pods shielded her from a mass-accelerator round, but didn't survive decompression."

Hackett felt a surge of pride, mingled with an anger deep in his chest. For two pins he'd rain death on the garden world…no. This was war. He _could_ rain death on that planet…but that would go against everything he'd—

"Captain, I have a major city on the target. Request permission to open fire?" The guns commander must have read his mind.

Hackett hesitated. The batarians had kidnapped civilians, but he had no quarrel with the batarian civilians. The salarian data he'd been cleared to see had referred to a society of slaves…something he could barely even imagine. Yet these batarians seemed to understand only loss of possessions, and if civilians were part of war….

Apparently, other ship captains had requested clearance for bombarding the planet below. Clear orders cut off any debate.

_"This is Admiral Koenig to all Alliance fleet personnel: we will not be destroying a garden world,"_ the admiral had the grace to sound frustrated.

_"It's not the destruction of a garden world, it's denying enemy resources!"_ someone protested over the open comm.

_"And when the batarians do the same thing to one of our colonies_?" Koenig cut him off_. "We can always come back and pound them again, but we can't come back and un-kill civilians. Save it for last resort only, do you understand me, son?"_

Hackett wavered. The intense desire for _Revenge_ still fought for supremacy, sending every nerve quivering with rage. But he knew orders, and he knew how to obey them.

"Guns, belay that last target. No targeting the garden world," he heard the other captain almost hissed at his comm.

_"Thank you,__ C__aptains,"_ said the admiral, dozens of kilometers away. _"If we do shell a planet, let it be on my head. Not yours."_

Hackett nodded even though the admiral couldn't see it. Gradually his gunnery officer gained control of himself, returning to duty in a calm manner.

_"We have the station. No other signs of humans in this system, recommend we take our ball and go home,"_ that came from the sensor cruiser Minsk, a sensor cruiser that was directing the attachment effort under the Allegiance.

_"Affirmative,"_ came the Admirals' reply_. "Form up on our exit vector, but keep shelling the system. Stay together, and don't fall behind."_

That was easier said than done. Hackett could see one of the battleships suffering engine damage, or at least that the energy output sections were giving off an eezo haze. He knew that was bad, any energy discharge in that haze could crush the battleship to smaller than a walnut.

He turned to his right, "Comm, contact the _Toyota_, see if there's anything we can do for them."

The operative listened to his earpiece, then caught the captains' eye, shaking his head slowly.

Hackett looked at the tactical display himself. A dense swarm of enemy vessels was approaching from the far side of the system. The _Toyota_ was between the _fleet_ and the enemy, shields still at full.

"ETA until enemy arrival?" he asked quietly.

"Three minutes."

"And until we jump?"

"Two minutes, thirty seconds."

_Blast_.

"Sir? Incoming message from the _Toyota_. It's marked for your eyes only."

He read the address field, then motioned to his second to take over. Wickum quickly stepped up and took command. There wasn't much to do at this point, just overseeing the departure preparations and avoiding as much damage as possible.

Hackett set up the privacy headpiece, retreating to the small wardroom to one side of the bridge. The lights dimmed, security field lowering on the perimeter.

"Hackett here" he sat down in front of the monitor.

_"Steven, good to see you,"_ Captain Johnson gave him a tired smile.

"It's been a fight, hasn't it?" he responded.

_"It sure has. Not a bad engagement, for a first-time experience, anyway. I just wish we'd been able to get the rest of the colonists back."_

"No reason we won't_," _Hackett found himself objecting. "We know who took them, we found the station in this system. We'll find the rest of our people, don't you fear."

The dark-skinned captain nodded, smiling nostalgically, "_You've never changed old friend. Still determined to see the best of a situation, and ready to go through hell to make it a reality."_

Hackett shrugged, "I just refuse to see only the negative side. Keeps things honest."

_"Yes…speaking of which, there's no need to sugarcoat it…I am going to die, Steve."_

Hackett just held the gaze of his friend. He wasn't going to lie, not at this point, "Is there anything you want me to take care of for you?"

Captain Johnson smiled, genuinely pleased, _"I was hoping you'd ask."_ His smile turned somber_,__"It's my godson, David Anderson."_ He raised his hands, preventing Hackett from saying anything, _"My own children are grown, don't worry about that. But David is undergoing the N7 training, and I won't be able to attend his graduation ceremony. Would you…could you…keep an eye on him? Make sure he has what he needs?"_

Hackett didn't have to speak. He couldn't anyway; a lump making it difficult.

Johnson smiled one last time, _"I'll hold them off. If I can, I'll meet you back by the old coffee shop, down by the park. Johnson out."_

The line went dead, leaving Hackett to stare at the blank viewer. Its empty eye ignored him, as featureless as the grave.

The bridge seemed almost the same as he'd left it. Wickum was leaving the chair just as he came around, using the same sixth sense all good XO's possessed. Somehow, everyone on the bridge knew what had transpired. The air of victory was gone, replaced by an aura of despondent gloom.

"Report," he barked, settling into his chair.

"The fleet is almost ready to make the jump, _Allegiance_ is reporting full power, and the repair station wanted all ships to know their bays are prepped and ready for repair work."

The screens confirmed the news. The _Revenge_ fleet was bunched into a loose line, the _Wrath_ and _Dreadnought_ classes closer to the approaching batarian fleet, lighter vessels further from the fire. The _Toyota_ was stationary, putting as much power into shields as possible. The damaged missile cruiser _Singapore_ was hiding behind her, forming an extra barrier between the swarming enemy shuttlecraft and the stricken battleships' side. Although her missile launchers were inactive, there was nothing wrong with her Aitan batteries. They stripped shields and detonated incoming missiles with reckless abandon.

"Make sure we have a recording of this." One of the tech specialists glanced back at Hackett. He kept watching the losing battle, "It's the least we can do."

"Transmission from the _Toyota_, wide band," someone piped it to the main terminal.

_"Revenge fleet, this is Captain Johnson of the SSV Toyota. It has been my honor to serve with you, and I am proud to be protecting those who protect our own. We have armed the self-destruct sequence, they won't get anything from us.__Semper Fi, and Anchors Aweigh my lads."_

The transmission cut off, just as a glowing blue cloud enveloped the massive battleship's stern. At the same time, the aft portion of the Singapore broke apart, debris scattering around the blue eezo field.

"Why aren't we hitting FTL?" Hackett suddenly asked.

His pilots looked back, somewhat panicked, "Orders were to wait until we got the signal. The _Odysseus_ took some damage a minute ago, so maybe their comm gear was kicked?

"That wouldn't keep them from jumping…." Hackett glanced back. The frigates he'd kept back were now dueling with their batarian counterparts, winning by virtue of their fresh shields and ammunition. They were buying them some time…but that was a luxury.

"Signal the fleet. Tell them to jump on my mark. Slave any vessel that doesn't respond to the main computer." His CO hesitated only a moment, then complied. Taking over the command structure was either a coup, or emergency situation. The way Hackett figured it, being surrounded by an increasingly powerful opponents while Command dithered, counted as an emergency.

"Captain, there's another fleet coming through the Relay." The CO barked orders to the gun crew, setting up new firing solutions.

Hackett took in the new data at a glance. The _Revenge_ fleet was outnumbered nearly five to one now, without the advantage of surprise. The new arrivals were spreading in a defensive posture around the Relay; they obviously had no intention of letting the invading _fleet_ escape.

Time was rapidly decreasing. The forces surrounding the garden world had finally organized themselves in a coherent attacking force, and were sweeping through the debris field of the _Toyota_.

"Tell the fleet to overcharge the Hawking Engine capacitors. We're taking a blind jump." Hackett slapped his comm specialists' shoulder, "Do it!"

Quickly the order went out. He could see the blue-glow of ship engines illuminate the darkness in all directions.

"Engage."

As one, the engines flared to brilliance. The Allegiance and her charge vanished first, followed by the smaller vessels and battleships. Within seconds, the entire _fleet_ was nothing more than a memory.

* * *

BHF _Victorious Strength_

Jeth'Orkan hissed in displeasure as the invading humans fled. A total victory would have cemented his power. As it was, he'd managed to gain command of the Hegemony Defense Force in the confusion. Unfortunately, that position would still be challenged in a way complete victory would have prevented.

He jabbed a finger a smoking panel, "Secure the damaged Hewmon vessels. Their crew will tell us the secrets their colonists are unable to say."

Underlings scurried to obey. They had seen his ruthless decisions, his execution of the inept commander. That action would earn much enmity from the Balak family, but for now he had power. He needed power, his people were failing to win favor from the Council races. This new race, properly subjugated, would grant his own people more slaves for shock troops, technological developments and experiments. Best of all, they seemed to know nothing about the Council, so there would be no distractions from that direction.

"Master," an asari slave cringed as he wheeled on her. "There is a possibility the alien large ship will be destroyed soon. Its engines are damaged."

He backhanded the blue abomination out of his way, "You should have told me that earlier. Boarding shuttles could have taken it by now."

Ignoring the pathetic scum, he opened another channel, "Assault squad three and four. Take the large dreadnought immediately, search it for information and slaves. Be quick, I don't like the look of those engines." He conveniently forgot to credit the slave for her insight. She was a slave, anyway. What she knew was the property of her masters.

* * *

SSV _Toyota_

5 minutes earlier

Most of the crew were dead or dying. Some still lived, but were either unconscious or were making peace with their Creator.

The self-destruct system, however, was damaged in a way no one could have anticipated. The Element Zero repositories surrounding the Hawking Engines were humming with power; a lucky shot had jammed itself into the capacitors that powered the shields, forcing the power generated to feed back upon itself. Only the power of a miniature black hole had allowed the engine core to stay in shape.

Then it happened. The energy flowing through the eezo surpassed the dark suns' gravity, crushing the aft end of the battleship smaller than a man's' hand. The particle streams drifted forward, freed from the parabolic reflectors, still maintaining the momentum it had from its restraints. The eezo layer compacted as it approached, enhancing the gravitational force exponentially. The now formidable singularity passed through the length of the vessel, crushing it beyond recognition. Any deaths due to its actions were painless, and instant. Once started, gravity could not be stopped.

At the same time, the remains of the Singapore drifted beyond the black hole's reach. With the _Toyota_'s bulk no longer hiding the batarian IFF signatures, the loose collection of missiles found programming orders. _Attack Enemy_.

It was a simple command, but all the more deadly for its simplicity.

The entire load ignited simultaneously, sending over two hundred E-37 Dragon missiles on a collision course. Each was loaded with anti-matter warheads, one of the few applications left for the substance after the Hawking Engines gained dominance.

The batarian vessels desperately avoided the singularity, an easy task since it moved rather slowly. The missiles, however, were another story. It was an unfortunate fact that the Batarian Hegemony Fleet had an authorized-user GUARDIAN system to avoid a rogue battery. Most of the vessels had their GUARDIAN systems offline, the battle was over.

By the time the explosions died away, the _Singapore_ was avenged a dozen times over. The cluster had blown through the shields of the nearest ships with little problem, needing only a single hit to penetrated the armor and hull.

The singularity, on the other hand, could not be stopped by mere GUARDIAN batteries. An ordinary Hawking Engine was capable of generating 25 gigawatts per second, and had a gravitational force equivalent to a moon. Alliance craft capable of landing were not equipped with true Hawking Engines due to environmental concerns. Explosions were not feared by any means; there was nothing to detonate. What was feared were the particle jets. The radiation and atomic fragments hurtled from a black hole with enough power to carve Titan-class armor.

Of course, the other aspect to consider was the immense gravity. A planet wouldn't be destroyed; there were far too many variables. Without the Element Zero controls, the black hole would evaporate long before becoming a danger in that way.

In this case, however, the Element Zero shell still surrounded the black hole, enhancing its power while preventing its demise as it slowly approached Kar'Shan.

* * *

BHF _Victorious Strength_

All that Admiral Jeth'Orkan could do was observe in impotent rage. Dozens of ships exploded as they veered around the massive signature on the sensors. Even as he watched, the rest of the hew-mon vessels vanish from the scanners, replaced by a view of expanding debris clouds.

Despite himself, he had to admire the brutal efficiency these aliens possessed. Not only had they denied the batarians their rightful prize, they had sacrificed their own to deliver yet more death to the Home System.

_They will make worthy slaves_, he thought. Absently, he noticed the death count increase. _Although they will learn to respect their betters. We cannot allow this form of insubordination._

"Master…" one of the mewling slaves requested his attention, "The…whatever it is…is approaching Kar'Shan."

Moving quickly, he struck the slave, feeding electricity through his truncheon. Turian physiology was just so conductive, "What have you been told about naming the Homeworld?" he questioned in a knowing tone.

The slave screamed, arching his back under the painful current, collapsing when the power ceased. His eyes were wide with fear, "I will never say the Name again, master, but I had to tell you!"

Orkan gave him another dose for good measure, "And that is the only reason why I do not maim you, cretin. Be thankful I am so merciful."

He took a look at the tracker himself. The sensors were registering something as large as an asteroid approaching the Homeworld, yet there was no object to be seen.

"Where is it?" he demanded, raising the truncheon again.

The slave whimpered, pawing at his controls. The interface spun crazily, searching for evidence that didn't exist. "M-m-master, there isn't any—" his voice turned into another scream as power surged into his body.

"Master, he speaks the truth!" Okran heard the asari slave protest behind him. He cut the current, smiling internally. So, she would stand up for a fellow slave? Possibly friends…or more? This boded well in case he got bored in the near future.

"Explain…slave," he kept his tone light and easy. She flinched, good.

"Master, I traced the path of this disturbance, it leads to the large hewmon ship. Look, the vessel is destroyed beyond anything I've ever seen!"

That made the batarian think. This blue abomination was four centuries old, and had seen a great deal in those years. Grudgingly he walked to her terminal, examining the proof himself, and felt his internal organs clench into a single mass.

The alien ship was indeed destroyed, but not from the pummeling of mass accelerators. Its length was…compressed, shrunk into a warped mass unrecognizable as a ship. Its trajectory was off as well; formerly, it had been travelling towards the Relay in an escape attempt. Now its heading angled past Verush towards deep space.

"Get me a vector on that unknown object," his demand was quiet, calm, the picture of serene command. But internally…fear twisted his guts.

He spent the duration pretending to admire the frescos painted along the bulkheads. They depicted the usual victorious scenes, Balak (1) family members triumphing over foes. Particular emphasis had been added to the limited visual capacity of the victims being trod underfoot, but that wasn't his fault. Some races were simply born superior, and he happened to be part of it.

"Vector analysis puts the object in a near-miss of…ah…the Homeworld," the turian avoided saying the punishing name.

Orkan narrowed his upper eyes at the screen, but shifted his lower set to the windows. A wrecked _Hansa_ cruiser was drifting out of place, slowly dropping into the unknown objects' gravity. The near end crumpled as though the heavy armor were made of _malka_ leaves. (2)

"Get me High Command!"

A slave slapped frantically at his controls, "Channel open, master."

"High Command, this is Admiral Orkan of the _Victorious Strength_. There is an unknown object of high mass approaching the Homeworld. Be advised, there is no physical signature, we are detecting it solely on gravity sensors." He took a deep breath, filling his lungs for what could possibly be the last time as a free man, "Also, the effects of this unknown object appear to be unstoppable. I am projecting a major damage to satellite coverage for one hemisphere."

He sat back, caressing the leather on his chair, and waited. The humans would pay for this.

* * *

STG Observation Post 37-Alpha

Lieutenant Kieren carefully notated the logs, adding them to the information dump when he finished. Around him, his fellow officers used equal care to add their observations and suggestions to the data they had just recorded.

Observation post 37-Alpha was a marvel of Salarian engineering. It had to be, what with the batarian paranoia. Multiple rods diffused heat into the core of the asteroid to which it clung. The asteroid, fairly close to the batarian sun, possessed a geosynchronous orbit facing the main star. Spurious heat emissions were never noticed. A series of observation probes attached to other asteroids allowed the salarians within the post to hack the batarian surveillance satellites. The batarians provided the very intelligence used against them, just the way a salarian liked it.

Ever since Survey Team Gamma-82 had vanished near batarian space, the salarians had known something was up. The greatest fear was that the batarians were preparing for a large-scale war, and were removing anything that would compromise their security...like an STG team. The more likely reason was that the salarians had run afoul of some local warlord, and their ship would be brought to Kar'Shan sooner or later as a trophy.

This was worse. Many, many times worse. Not only had the observation team failed to locate their missing comrades, they had witnessed the batarians bring a strange space station in system. Ordinarily, this would not be of unique interest. Space stations were built according to the ancient rule of architecture: design shadows purpose. Odd designs indicated creativity, something the batarians sadly lacked in vast quantities. Well, except for the odd attempt in finding loopholes.

In this case, however, an unknown race had invaded the batarian system, confident enough in their military prowess to have actually broadcast their intentions! The language was new, but the body language was plain, obvious to the trained eye. This _fleet_ had then proceeded to maul the batarian home system, launching projectiles in all directions, at anything that even hinted of being manufactured. Fortunately, the newcomer barbarians had refrained from bombarding the garden world; an action which would have impelled the observation team to immediately contact the Council and request Turian support. Turians had a remarkable penchant for attacking first and asking questions never.

The fleet then attached the station (which was aesthetically similar to the ships), and retreated. They had inflicted tremendous damage on the best the batarians had to offer, and lost less than 35% of their own fleet in the process.

The truly intriguing part was what occurred after the new race, these humans (from the batarian broadcasts) left. Some of the wreckage exploded, damaging or destroying the recovery ships that had surrounded the flotsam. A second part of the wreckage had simply…collapsed. It currently was making its way towards the batarian home world, that is, Homeworld. (3)

Future observations would be intriguing, especially when orders came back from Sur'Kesh.

* * *

1) Ancient batarian family. The Balak family line had been in power for millennia after the tumultuous power struggles of the First Contact era.

2) Malka: a plant native to Kar'Shan and exported to many of its colonies, similar to the human corn plant. Its flowers are small and white, while the leaves have a pale green coloration. The majority of its fame comes from the leaves protecting the flower; they have a sweet taste and smooth texture.

3) Batarians always called their planet of origin "Homeworld," similar to other nations. Their emphasis indicated that the planet was so important, every species should know to which was being referred.

* * *

**A/N: I am back home, and posting on time again! For your viewing pleasure, here is my first major battle scene. I enjoyed writing it, though I fear the situation may require editing; let me know what you think!**

**Special thanks as always to NightStride for his Beta wizardry! Also, thank you Kira Kyuu for her enthusiastic support, dajhou for his pragmatic attitude, and EffervescentNova for his honesty.**

**Observer01, indeed, good call ;)**

**School is starting for me next week, but I will continue posting here weekly until my cushion runs out (about 13 chapters, give or take). By then, I hope to have the rest written for the Prequal, and a good start on ME1. **

**Also, I would like to ask you for some help. I am writing the timeline for the ME1 series, and am having a difficult time deciding which character to save on Virmire. I am intending to remain fairly close to Canon, but only so far as there will be similar planets and people involved. Politics, LI situations and the rest are going to be purely AU, which brings me to my dilemma: which should Shepard save? Kaidan, or Ashley? _I have a poll up on my profile __page_**: u/4735165/V-rcingetorix,** or you can Review/PM me with your input. **  


**Just so you know, I have a folder where I store every Review I get, they're that significant to me. Thanks!**


	10. Chapter 10: Flight from Kar'Shan

_The first battle humanity fought with an alien species was an enlightening experience. We proved to ourselves that it could be done, and we were able to fight on our own terms. But the best thing happened after the fight, when then-Captain Hackett took the fleet on a random FTL jump out of the Hasha system._

_See, the Alliance was becoming highly xenophobic; we weren't there yet, but the groundswell was definitely building. Fortunately, we encountered another race that had almost as much reason to despise the batarians as we did. We found out the truth about their lack of perfection later, but at the time, their presence was the best thing that could have happened._

_~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD _

_Project __Ragnarök Files_

* * *

January 22, 2156

_SSV Matterhorn_

_That was a bloody fiasco_, Captain Hackett thought to himself. His own dreadnought had been thoroughly pounded; the rest of the fleet was in equal or worse shape.

"Shields are up to 35%, sir," an ensign informed, handing him a report.

Hackett took a cursory look at it before countersigning and handing it back, "See that medical gets as much power as it needs. We don't have anything shooting us at the moment, so we can spare some time on repairs."

"Sir, yes sir!" the ensign hurried off.

The Forge station they'd rescued floated off to the port side. The damned batarians had done their best trying to crack it open, but hadn't gotten through its shields yet. It had been a miracle the occupants had been able to get the jump on their attackers when they had; a few more hours and the batarians probably would have killed them all.

"Reports coming in, sir."

Hackett flicked his monitor on, scrolling through the list. The _Erebus_ was in slightly better condition, moving to cover the badly damaged Allegiance. The destroyer had pulled the repair station along with her on their escape. No one had wanted to leave anything behind, least of all a fellow human. Speaking of which, the station had mentioned prepping for construction. Time to see how it was going.

"Contact the repair station, see how they're holding up," he ordered, then watched the comm specialist fiddle with the controls.

The sounds of a busy bridge surrounded him while the specialist carried out his orders. Then his link opened, showing a tired man in coveralls holding a welders torch. The insignia on his shoulder indicated the rank of mechanic chief.

"_Captain Hackett, I presume?"_

Hackett chuckled at the ancient aphorism, "We are out of the batarian system, still don't know how the devil they had so many ships there."

The mechanic grimaced, "_We intercepted a lot of transmissions in there, Captain. It looks like that's their home system. At least, they kept telling us we wouldn't escape 'the great fleets of the Hegemony.' That and they sure had a lot of surveillance sats all over the place. Station VI calculated some of the satellites have been in place for a few centuries_."

Hackett parsed that fact. It explained a great deal.

"_If there is nothing else, sir, my boys are suiting up to start repairs on the Allegiance,"_ the mechanic chief gently pushed.

Hackett raised an eyebrow, "Your men have been through enough, I'm sending engineers from my own ship and requesting the same from the others to help out."

The chief shook his head adamantly, "_We've been through a lot, but you and the Allegiance pulled us out of hell, sir. We know how to repair ships; that's why Troy hired us. No way we're taking a back seat.__What if the batarians followed us_?"

Hackett couldn't argue with that, "All right, you know your men best. Make sure they get rest, though. Mistakes are easy when you're exhausted."

"Captain!" a sensors station jerked around, "We're picking up an alien vessel! Coming from the Relay, ninety-degrees mark seventy, sir!"

The chief vanished from the screen. Already his mechanics, clad in _Hephaestus_ power armor, were jetting to the hull of the Allegiance. Large sheets of metal plating were mag-clamped to their cargo-attachments.

Hackett swiveled his own screen to the sensors. A single vessel, about frigate size, was cautiously approaching their fleet, staying out of range and poised to flee.

"Why isn't the _Odysseus_ hailing them?" he asked no one.

"Admiral Koenig is...dead, sir. They took a hit to the bridge area," someone informed.

_Blast. That makes_… the thought died as he realized he was the next-most senior captain.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Open a hailing channel."

"Channel open, sir, voice only."

Hackett kept his chin up, raising his visor, "Unknown vessel, this is Acting Admiral Steven Hackett of the Alliance vessel Matterhorn. May I ask your business in this area?"

A filtered garble came back, with a strange voice warbling through the static.

He looked with askance at the linguistics specialist. She was going through the computer analysis so quickly her hands were a blur.

"It looks as if this language is khelish, sir," She reported, "Computer analysis pegs it as quarian… activating the translator, sir."

Static started buzzing again, then words started cutting though, _"…of the Flotilla. Repeat, this is Captain Mel'kom vas Cheko of the Flotilla. Please state your reason for being this close to the path of the Flotilla. Be warned, we will not tolerate any threat to the Migrant Fleet."_

The speaker seemed prepared for war, wearing a full faceplate with a complete environmental covering. The material used for the faceplate was tinted, showing a sheen when the light glinted off teeth, although the eyes appeared to have a luminosity all of their own.

A thought rose to the surface of Hackett's mind. _Binocular set eyes, long limbs with grasping digits. That looked predatory, better watch for pack behavior. Do not threaten their people, show yourself to be an asset to the tribe._

He signaled for another transmission, "This is Captain Steven Hackett, of the Systems Alliance dreadnought, the SSV Matterhorn. My apologies for the delay, we had to alter our translator. We are in this region by accident, a blind FTL jump from a hostile system. We mean no harm to your people, we just want to fix up our Fleet and go home."

There was a pause, and the other…man…came back.

_"__You definitely look beat up enough for that to be true. I have to say though, I've never met your Alliance. Is that part of the Asari Republic?"_

Another pause before Hackett replied, "No, we are not members of the asari, or any Council race. We are the Systems Alliance, a sovereign power." He waited a beat, "We had hoped to maintain our anonymity, but a Council race kidnapped several of our colonies. We volunteered to get them back…but bit off a little more than we could chew apparently."

A chuckle returned, _"Are you sure? Kidnapping isn't exactly the Council's style."_

Hackett narrowed his eyes, "I know that the four-eyed b******* took our station, and we have enough batarian bodies on our colonies to prove it."

The voice of the other ships' captain turned grim, _"Ahhh. Batarians. Now that makes more sense." Silence for a bit. Then, "I have conferred with the Flotilla, we will not attack, provided you do not attack."_

"Done," Hackett just barely kept himself from sagging against the panel. "When we return home, I will inform my superiors of your forbearance. If you will excuse me, I have a fleet to fix up."

_"__An admirals' work is never done.__Keelah se'lai."_

Hackett waited until the link indicator faded, "A polite people. I wonder why that salarian ship had so little information on them?"

* * *

_QUF Cheko_

Captain Mel'kom

Mel'kom vas Cheko leaned back in his chair, considering the sorry fleet in his view. It was obvious the alien ships had been through battle, but it was equally obvious that the ships had been new to start with. A quarian could always tell.

"Captain, the Heavy Fleet says they're on their way," Shina'Kaya Vas Cheko unlocked her omni-tool from the transmitter. "They also said to tell them anything they want to hear, so long as they believe we are not a threat."

"We aren't a threat," Mel'kom pointed out gently. "We're a thirty year old cruise ship with cast-off volus armaments. Besides, they don't seem to be eager for a fight now, do they?"

His specialist glanced at the readouts again. The unfamiliar vessels were clustered in a cautious arrangement, surrounding a large oblong ship.

"What is it they are protecting?" she wondered aloud.

Her captain settled back into his chair, "Well, I suppose we could sit here and wait, or we could do the neighborly thing and offer a helping hand. Any volunteers?"

Nearly every crewman stood. The chance to observe new technology and rarer still make First Contact, was something no one born in space could resist.

Mel'kom smiled, "Well then, let's get to it."

* * *

_SSV Matterhorn_

Captain Hackett watched the progress reports slowly scroll across his screen. The Amenities station was proving to be worth its weight in eezo. The automated repair systems were busily patching up the Allegiance with fresh plating, taking the ruined armor back inside to be melted down. The Hephaestus power armor suits were working incredibly well, too. Ships that had been heavily damaged were prioritized, and the mobile repair platforms hauled multi-ton sheets of metal with little effort.

"Captain, we're being hailed again," the comm specialist held a hand to her ear.

"Put them through," Hackett resumed his seat, waiting.

"_Admiral Hackett,"_ it was Captain Mel'Kom again, "_If you would allow it, some of my crew have volunteered to assist in repairing your ships. We have more vessels coming to this system, which would bring more hands to help, should you permit it_."

Hackett pondered the offer. If he were to allow aliens to work on Alliance ships, they could learn secrets better left in Alliance hands. On the other hand, the other captain had informed him that there would be more aliens arriving, which would put his fleet at a disadvantage should it come to a fight.

"We would be grateful for the assistance," he let his smile carry through the visor. "Our Forge station has stockpiled a large number of resources, perhaps we could trade labor for minerals?"

He could have sworn the quarian captain chuckled, "_I believe we can work out an agreement. My people are very skilled at fixing ships. They are our life, after all."_

"Send them over, we could use a few on our repair station and on some of our larger ships." Hackett raised his hand before the quarian captain could respond, "And please, consider us your hosts while you are on board, and we will get you anything you need. It's the least we can do."

The quarians luminescent eyes … turned upwards slightly … was that culturally significant? "_We will do as you say. Cheko out_."

* * *

Troy _Forge_ station, _Amenities_

The quarians looked completely dissimilar from the salarians and batarians. They were easily the most Human-like species the engineer Chief had seen. Relatively, that is. All quarians wore environmental suits, somewhat similar to his own. However, theirs were not as heavily armored as his own, and they apparently did not have power-armor.

"Keelah!" one of them exclaimed, "How can you maneuver such a monstrosity?"

Sven was wearing another set of Hephaestus armor, modified for his own large frame. He waved a large arm at the quarian, and took a few quick steps from an old jig, "Det svarer til min touch som den mest lydige av hester. Jeg har også programmert datamaskinen mest grundig."

Tina stepped forward, depolarizing her visor, "He says it has a very smooth control, and the main computer has had more than enough time to get the major bugs worked out."

"Um …" the quarian looked between the two of them, "why aren't his words being translated? Does he have … ah … religious reasons?"

Tina chuckled, "No, he just doesn't speak any language the translators know. Our home world speaks over five thousand languages, and we haven't finished the translators for over half of them.

"You don't use AIs' or VI's to speed it up, then?" the quarians' hand hovered near a blocky construct on its thigh.

Tina laughed, "AI? Why not wish for endless eezo, or an infinite supply of singularities? If we had that, we'd use them on the station here. As it is, we just program VI and redo them when necessary."

The quarian had a surprised tint to its body language, "You use VI's? Do you operate such an enormous ship with one?"

Sven waved at Tina and stomped to the airlock, "Snakk med den vennlige fremmede, lille. Jeg vil komme tilbake snart (1)."

Tina waved back, "Jeg venter (2)!"

Turning back to the quarian, she directed his attention to a panel on the wall, "Most of our ships have a main computer VI doing the processor work for us. We've ensured there's enough data storage space to remember all the settings for as many crew as we need. On a station like this, that comes to a few hundred terabytes, a big improvement over what we had a few years back. The VI's on the main processor, but it's fairly basic compared to the standard ground-based models, so we don't use it much."

The quarian tapped a few icons on the panel. He was rewarded with a chiming noise and an instruction manual, "Incredible…most of our ships use localized computers linked to network when needed. Yet you say your people do not use VI's to control your ships?"

Tina shrugged, "Well, I hear they've installed a few advanced models on the Arcturus station, but that thing is a behemoth. You could lose a cargo carrier in there if you weren't careful."

"Tina!" Friedrich stumped his way from a corner, "Am I paying you to talk, or fix up half a hundred ships?"

The female engineer saluted, "Sorry sir, both sir."

He grunted, "I want to see more clanking, less gabbing, all right?"

"Sir, yes sir," she saluted again.

As he headed back to his post, she whispered to the quarian, "That's Chief Engineer Schmidt. He's in charge of this station."

The quarian looked alarmed, "I'm sorry, I didn't want to get you in trouble with your Captain—"

Tina giggled, "Don't worry, he's a big ol' teddy bear once you get past the thick hide. But I should be getting back to work, thanks for the chat!"

* * *

_SSV_ _Matterhorn_

Captain Hackett

"Sir," the analyst looked worried, "I'm reading a large number of signatures coming through the Relay."

"How many?" Hackett asked.

The analyst just shook his head, "Over fifty, and increasing."

Hackett nodded slowly, "They were telling the truth then. Good, about time we found an honest race."

"They're hailing us, sir," the comm specialist was really getting a workout today.

"_Alliance__Acting Admiral__Hackett, this is Admiral Jel'Gerral of the Quarian Heavy Fleet. We have been informed your fleet is in need of repair?"_

Hackett stood, arms at the small of his back, "This is Captain Hackett of the Revenge fleet. You have been informed correctly, Admiral, and I appreciate any assistance you could give us."

"_Captain Mel'kom has told us about your offer to exchange resources for labor; what will you need to do in order to get your ships back up and running again?"_

The quarians had nice voices, Hackett thought. Even translated, it sounded vaguely Human, with traces of the Iberian peninsula, "Well from what my engineers tell me, the power relays on several ships need cleaning, and the hull-armor surrounding the shield projectors has to be repaired. Your people won't be able to help with the fiddly bits I'm afraid, but if you could help get the hulls in shape, that would speed up our timetable immensely."

"_Acknowledged, Captain. We're sending the shuttles over now. Just point them in the right direction."_

"Understood, and thanks," Hackett keyed off the comm. _I just hope I haven't made a critical error here. Trusting the well-being of the fleet to complete strangers…._

* * *

Fortunately, the aliens…the quarians…were as honorable as the batarians had been dishonorable. Hackett was amazed by how quickly they repaired even the most damaged vessels. The quarians had swarmed over the damaged locations, effortlessly welding sections together as if they'd been born in zero gravity. Their teamwork pushed the repair work efficiency beyond what their half-squad of Hephaestus mechs were capable of doing.

The new trouble, of course, was how to reach home again. According to the maps traded from the quarians, the only way the Revenge fleet would be able to reach home was through Batarian space. While the ships had been repaired, they were far from battle readiness. Guns were misaligned, shield emitters were borderline at best, and the crews were all exhausted. No, they needed another route back.

That led to the method which had brought them to their present location. FTL drive.

The batarian home world, Kar'Shan was found in what was called the Harsha System, a subsystem of the Kites Nest region. The Revenge fleet had gained access via a somewhat dangerous FTL jump just beyond what the Prothean Ruins had stated was possible.

Escaping the batarian system by overcharging the FTL jump-drives had revealed a far more potent capability than the Ruins had suggested. Instead of a ten light-year hop, they had driven over fifty light-years. That was almost twice the distance first traveled via Mass Relay by Captain John Grissom nearly forty years earlier.

Unfortunately, the jump had stressed the Hawking engines almost beyond their tolerance point. Standard eezo engines needed to discharge every ten light-years or so, but Hawking engines didn't. Excess energy could be fed back into the singularity, which served as an almost perfect heat sink. Still, the process of continuously collecting power from the parabolic reflector, channeling it through the drive-train, and keeping the entire system stable took a toll on the physical components.

Since the Relay network was out, they had to try the overcharge method again. With luck, the engines would withstand the strain. Without it…Earth would never know what had happened.

"_Admiral Hackett, this is the only Relay within twenty light-years. Are you certain you know where you are going?"_ the voice of the helpful captain of the Cheko was routed to Hackett's bridge.

"I am not completely certain, no," he admitted, "but I am aware that I have few options, and my engineers are certain this will work." He paused for emphasis, "You know what they're like; the slightest hint of disbelief in their abilities and they're miffed for weeks."

The quarian laughed, but it sounded strained, _"I understand, but if you try an FTL jump that way, you will not, in all likelihood,__survive."_

Hackett was surprised again, the quarians had discerned his intention solely from which direction his ships were pointed…an erroneous deduction, he hoped, but a clever one. "We just may surprise you," Hackett returned. "Remember to use the pass phrases I gave you, and my people will be grateful. I am already grateful for your assistance."

The distant quarian sighed heavily, _"Then I bid you farewell. Keela Se'lai, Admiral Hack'ett. It has been a pleasure."_

"Don't count us out yet," Hackett stated, "I will see your representative at Arcturus." He nodded to Commander Wickum, "Engage."

All across the Revenge fleet blue lights flared. Miniature stars appeared, temporarily held just beneath and behind the Alliance ships. As per their instructions, the ships kept feeding power through the element zero stabilizers, feeding more and more energy from the Hawking singularities into the matter-displacement chambers.

Finally, as the gauges approached their apex, the fleet made the jump and disappeared.

* * *

Skepsis System

Watson was one of the earliest colonies established by earth. It had been nearly a cause of war between the various nations, since it had been one of the first garden worlds discovered. Every nation wished to claim ownership, and had their own reason for believing themselves the best suited for colonization.

An amicable solution had been achieved only when the fledgling Alliance had flexed its muscle, stepping in as a forceful mediator. The planets continents had been divided between the three major nations, and settlement rights had been granted to the smaller nations as well.

Since it was one of the oldest colonies, Watson possessed multiple _Forge_ construction stations, and a pair of _Olympus_ class battle stations. Construction was almost complete on a _Titan_ class battle station, which had begun when the salarian exploration vessel had been discovered.

No one on the colony was prepared for the _Revenge_ fleet to drop in from nowhere.

"Captain, all ships report successful real-space transition. Major engine damage is being reported on most ships, but nothing that can't be repaired in a few months." Commander Wickum had an exhausted expression, but pride still colored his voice. "You did it, sir! We're home!"

Hackett let himself smile, but still eyed his navigation board curiously, "We may be back in Alliance Space," he commented, "but where are we?"

"We're being hailed, Captain," a lieutenant reported, "opening a channel."

"_Incoming fleet, this is Watson docking authority. Who are you and how did you get here?"_ a puzzled yet almost angry man asked.

"My apologies, dockmaster. I am Captain Hackett, acting admiral for the Revenge fleet."

"_The Revenge fleet? You've been missing for weeks, have you found the colonists?"_

"Yes and no," Hackett paused, unsure how to reply. "We found some of them, and some new friends, but everything else should be saved until we've been debriefed." He looked sharply at commander Wickum, whom shrugged helplessly. While the captain could ban his own ship from communicating, he had no authority to prevent the other vessels from doing so.

"_Understood. Welcome back, Revenge fleet. Our repair and housing centers are open for your use."_

Hackett smiled, sitting back tiredly. They were home.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this is late, I became distracted playing League of Legends for the first time.**

**Well, this is the end of the 3-part Batarian arc, and the beginning of a new era. Time skips will reduce in duration, while I will have a few more cameos introduced.**

**Virmire vote! Who will be voted off the Normandy, Kaidan or Ashley? Or do you want something completely different? I am going AU, but will include a lot of canon details.**

**Not much else to say, except thanks to Nightstride's Betaing magnificence, and to Kira Kyuu for idea-bouncing. See y'all next week!**

**Update: Corrected Kira's name.**


	11. Chapter 11: Meet the Quarians

_The quarians were a pleasant surprise. While it took years, decades even to discover their attempted genocide, they were honestly a race desperate for allies. Almost all of the information I had on their race pointed to a greedy society of thieves ... but if you read between the lines, there was another story. What race of thieves would send out their youth? Wouldn't experienced thieves make better profit? Why would the entire Flotilla be redirected from systems with bribes?_

_My conclusions were that the quarians had a very healthy work ethic, and a strong sense of tradition. I also remembered the different members of my own race that had been labeled the same way. Jews and Gypsies, the Irish immigrants and more. All had the same label, and while not really a race of innocence, they had many great people._

_I recommended a meeting at earliest convenience. My suggestion was received at very high levels, and accepted. If I may be proud of nothing else, I am proud to have helped the quarians and humans make a peaceful Official First Contact._

_~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD _

_Project __Ragnarök Files_

* * *

_SSV Oslo_

Shanxi-Theta Relay

Captain Isaac Delance waited by the airlock, letting the pride he felt suffuse his features. His best marines waited in their dress blues to one side. Their hardware gleamed, each medal polished to a turn. The Alliance brass hadn't been sure whether to send a full fleet, a single battleship, or a frigate. *Eventually, a frigate with the best record was selected. It was small enough that a quarian attack wouldn't be devastating, but prestigious enough to assuage the quarians' pride.

_"Captain, we have successfully docked with the Idenna,"_ the pilots' voice echoed over the intercom.

Delance nodded to himself, "Thank you, Karl." He stiffened as the airlock cycled and hissed open, allowing three quarians in multi-colored full-body suits to enter. Surprisingly, they were wearing soft-looking versions of armor. The important regions certainly were reinforced, but had the pliant appearance of a softer fabric.

"Greetings, Captain D'lance vas Oslo. Permission to come aboard?" the lead figure asked.

_They do their homework, don't they?_Delance thought. "Permission granted," He gestured for them to follow. "As a guest on board my ship, please feel free to ask for anything you desire… although I predict that your only worry will be overly full stomachs." he smiled, that last bit was ad-lib, but it felt right.

"Thank you, Captain. We are indebted for your kindness." The words sounded formulaic, as did the half-salute, so Delance deduced he had not broken any taboos.

"I am Admiral Waari'Sina vas Quinsin," the lead figure in green held out a tri-digit hand.

Delance tried not to stare, but the concept was so…_alien_. Three fingers? An opposable digit, sure, but with only two grasping digits? How did they get any work done?

"A pleasure," he smiled, grasping the proffered hand warmly, "I have already given orders to make way for Arcturus Station, although if it is acceptable, we will be making a few stops along the way?"

"It is." The admiral seemed amused for some reason, "I am considered either a reckless fool, or a forward-thinking lunatic, depending on who you ask. In either case, if you spirit me away for secret tests or some such thing, I will be missed, but not terribly so."

Delance chuckled politely, "Hardly what we had in mind for rescuers of the _Revenge_ fleet, much less one of the few friendly races. I don't know what my superiors want, but I doubt it is anything devious."

Their route was short, showcasing the efficiency of an Alliance frigate. The Conference Center, aft of the cockpit, had its complement of chairs folded into their analysis position. The operators faced the outer wall, ignoring the alien admiral and captain in favor of the monitors before them.

The biggest scare came as they passed through a corridor between decks. Ironically, it was due to a small cleaner bot skirting their legs. One of the two unnamed, but well armored, quarians gasped, half-pulling a strange-looking rectangle that whirred into the shape of a sidearm.

"Uh ... Admiral?" Delance had visions of chaos running through his mind. A dead quarian admiral leading to a three way war between the quarians, humans and batarians. Endless postings to the edge of civilization, the family name going up alongside the same time-honored screw-ups as Quisling, Arnold and—

"What is that?" the Admiral asked. His tone was calm, but strong emotion made his entire frame shake. Their physique was so alien, it could have been rage or fear … maybe both.

Delance followed the quarians pointing finger to the cleaning drone.

"The … the drone?" he asked puzzled.

"Yes! What. Is. It?"

The captain whistled at the cleaning drone, making it stop, chirp obligingly, and roll towards his feet. He picked it up, wondering at the quarians' sudden attitude change. The little wheels spun madly as he lifted it before they froze completely.

"This is … ah … unit 352KL5. One of the Dummy units, stupid thing probably got on the wrong transport hub."

The second quarian, hand still on his gun spoke up, "What is this … Doom-ee unit?"

Delance must have looked honestly perplexed, since all three of the guests seemed to relax. "Um, sirs, I am not sure what just happened. Could you clue in the really, really confused alien?"

The quarians shuffled, somehow conveying reluctance without any facial cues. However, they had almost drawn weapons on _his_ ship, and he wasn't about to back down.

"We ... have reason to distrust Artificial Intelligence," the Admiral finally said. "Our people were forced from our homeworld because of them."

"Ah …" Delance wasn't quite sure what to make of that fact… "You are trying to joke with the ignorant barbarian, yes? Artificial Intelligences are possible? But that's…that's…not even feasible…what about moral groundings? Logic and social circumstances? Or just existentialism?" he shook his head. "My people have looked into AI technology for over a hundred years, and gotten nowhere. Every time we get close to a breakthrough, something crops up and the whole project gets wasted."

The admiral sounded grim, "Be thankful for the ignorance of your people, Captain. My people discovered the secret by accident. All we have left now is our fleet."

"Ah," Delance said again. He looked down at the quiet little unit. "Well, if it helps, this is one of our most advanced drones, and it has the average intelligence of a toaster."

This seemed to reassure the quarians. At least, the red-suited one stopped caressing his pistol.

Delance gave a silent prayer of thanks. That could have been bad.

* * *

_SSV Oslo_

Arcturus

"I hope you have been enjoying the tour. My people have been wanting to give you a show ever since they heard we would be getting a visitor." Delance grinned at his guests. They had been models of efficiency; never one minute late for meals … even if they insisted on eating the food they'd brought themselves.

Admiral Waari gazed out the port window at the blackness of space typically seen during FTL travel, "Indeed … I have seen multiple planets in my travels, but I haven't seen so many garden worlds in such a short amount of time."

Delance sat back in the lounge chair. Technically he should have been on the bridge, but this was an important step, and the brass had wanted him present for the next phase personally. "We have been blessed," he commented. "At least, we have been given a great deal, even if those batarians have tried to steal much from us. Especially, lives." He sighed with an air of melancholy, "Unfortunately, some of the worlds we have discovered are just as beautiful … but dead to us."

"Pardon?" the admiral looked back away from the window. He seemed oddly intent on what Delance was saying.

"For some reason, several of the planets we've discovered are naturally reversed on a molecular level. It is most puzzling, we hadn't thought it possible — but I am distracting from the finale. It's about to start."

The light outside dimmed, as the ship entered the Relay, then flared into stars again. Faint outlines turned into brightly lit space stations, over a dozen grouped ahead. More stations loomed in the far distance, hovering protectively before the Relays.

The quarian admiral abruptly stood. Delance could see the gleams of light from his eyes brightening behind the visor, "Keelah… this is your home system?"

"No, although you are partially right. This is the capital for all Alliance Space. Admiral Waari'nar vas Quinsin, I am pleased to hereby bid you welcome to Arcturus Station."

Silence filled the room as ship after ship coasted past. In reality, the Oslo was moving forwards, but the mostly stationary armada appeared to be passing them by with a fluid grace. From the appearance, the Admiralty had gone all out in trying to impress the race of fifty thousand ships.

The entire 1st Fleet was present, and Delance could see half of the 2nd Fleet coming up behind. Fighters by the hundreds swarmed in formation around their carriers, looking like insects around a hive. Frigates curled lazy paths around their massive battleship brethren, giving the appearance of playful dolphins amongst their larger whale cousins.

Then, just as the parade was becoming routine, the battleships jumped in-space. It was an impressive sight, vessels over a kilometer long appearing side-by-side, standing out stark-white in almost total darkness. Smaller vessels made the jump beside the larger ones, cruisers and destroyers fanning into protective formations.

Delance sneaked a peek at the quarian admiral. He seemed intrigued, impressed and…a little amused at the same time. He also seemed to know exactly what was going on.

"This is the first time we've had a total stranger in our capital system," he explained somewhat apologetically, "You'll have to forgive our desire to show off."

The admiral just shook his head, "How long has your species been capable of mustering such a force?"

Delance had to count on his fingers, another apparent source of entertainment to the quarian. "Um … let's see … about ten, fifteen years? Twenty since we made our fourth fleet, but it's only been ten years since we finally made enough ships to cover all of our colonies and still have a few left over for something like this."

"You mean, you have only just come into space? That explains a lot."

Delance cocked an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

Waari pointed at the 1st Fleet, "The frigates are too close to the dreadnoughts for effective combat. Their proximity allows anything that misses the frigates to hit the capital ship, and prevents the anti-missile weaponry on the capital ships from engaging to their full capacity."

His finger shifted across the pane, indicating the Battleships. "These…large dreadnoughts are impressive, but the smaller capital ships are spread too unevenly. An enemy force trying to attack them would have an easy time isolating, then destroying one of them before the rest could respond."

He paused guiltily, cocking his head to study the display, "However, it is an excellent display. It reminds me of the tales told by my people of our glory days," He turned to the human captain, "It is very impressive, especially for a race that has gained FTL capacity less than fifty years ago, but … there are improvements that could be made."

Delance just smiled. He believed the quarian would love what his superiors would have to ask.

The perspective from the window changed slightly, as the ship headed for the massive station at the center of the two fleets. The _Titan_ and _Olympus_ stations visible from their viewpoint lived up to their namesakes, bristling with weaponry and defensive mien. The Arcturus Station was enormous, massing well over the battle stations present.

Delance wished he could read the obscure visual cues through the quarians faceplate. The eyes flickered, dimming and brightening almost like a machine.

* * *

_Arcturus_ Station, 2152

Admiral Waari'nar Quinsin

_Humans are full of contradictions, _Waari thought to himself. _The walls of their station are grey, but the pictures hanging upon them are filled with color. The people have boundless enthusiasm for art, but their ships are utilitarian,_ he shook his head,_ they eschewed translators and many omni-tool functions, but create small computers with more processing power than a turian frigate. By the Ancestors, why are they so confusing?_

Waari sank his faceplate into his hands. He was unsure how to react with this new people. They had pressed their food upon him and his advisers, but did not check for chiral origins. They seemed sad when he refused, but happy whenever he arrived at an engagement.

Who were these people?

He activated one of their computers, a gift they'd pressed on him almost as soon as he'd arrived. It was remarkably sophisticated, despite the inefficient VIs. Menus, files, and application organizers took the place of the higher-level virtual intelligences to which he was used, forcing him to organize everything himself. The sheer number of files a quarian carried around made the process exceedingly tedious.

Once he'd finished, however, the programs ran as quickly as the mainframe on his own ship, even though there were no technicians constantly maintaining the system. It was astonishing that they hadn't developed AI's or higher quality VI's yet, something he'd been reluctant to converse about.

Their history was available on a number of sites in their extranet. He'd been trying to learn something about them before his initial meeting. All the Fleet had been able to tell him was that they "built big ships" and had "a lot of resources." In his experience, those whom had resources were not eager to share them, least of all to a quarian. _Especially_ if they had "big ships."

* * *

_Arcturus_ Station

Guest Quarter

Waari's first official meeting came the next day with a man named Emissary Julian. As humans went (in Waari's limited experience), he was fairly normal looking. That is to say, his appearance was shockingly similar to that of a quarian. The only major differences he could determine were the coloration, finger count, and leg-shape. That last was the least surprising; no other species had the same leg curvature quarians possessed.

Emissary Julian sat on a sofa in Waari's quarters. By quarian standards, the room was _very_ spacious, and decorated with frivolous paraphernalia. It seemed a little Spartan to the human , if Waari was any judge. The human didn't even glance at the open walls and clear floor space. Waari, on the other hand, couldn't stop staring at _so much space! _He could barely believe he was allowed to use the _entire_ suite of rooms for _himself_. Even his guards had their own suite; not as spacious as the one the humans had given him, but still ….

"I hope everything is well for you?" the human inquired. He spoke Khelish, albeit with an awkward accent. Still, it was impressive for a beginner.

"It has been very pleasant," Waari answered politely. "I have enjoyed going over your peoples histories. You are an incredible people."

Julian bowed his head graciously, "No less so than your own race. We know little, but what we do know nearly strains our credulity. Is it true that your entire race explores the stars in one giant fleet? And that you have no need to set foot on a planet, ever?"

Waari grimaced behind his mask. So this is how it would begin. "Oh, the truth is less flattering than you think," he began. "My people were driven from their homeworld by synthetic life-forms known as the geth. We roam the stars because we have no home. On occasion we do land, but only to acquire resources or to repair our ships."

The human looked interested, "Why not settle on another planet? Or why has the rest of the galaxy not aided you against these geth?"

The quarian admiral kept his posture very still, "The geth were of our own creation. They were servants of my people, until they accidentally gained higher intelligence. Artificial intelligence research was, and is, forbidden by the Council. When the geth attained a higher level of intellectual capacity, our embassy was closed, and all aid was cut off. The Council races have also made it difficult for us to colonize another world for fear we would repeat the mistakes our ancestors made."

"Isn't that counterproductive?" The human asked. "If AI's are a true threat to the galaxy, why haven't the other races given more support? Or at the very least, given your race a base from which to strike back?"

Waari chuckled humorlessly, "You would assume so, but the geth have remained behind the *Perseus Veil* for reasons only the Ancestors know. Wise of them. If they ever decided to progress beyond the Veil, they might be regarded as an imminent threat by the Citadel. Since they have never emerged, they are our problem. We are judged to be guilty, and the punishment is to be denied any aid other than what labor or services we can provide."

The human seemed shocked; Waari tentatively classified that as a good thing. No one had shown that much sympathy to the quarians, other than the occasional asari. Those few were not enough to change policy, however. It had been Councilor Tevos herself that had helped lead the Council to ban the quarian resettlement question. It had been one of her main platforms in her election campaign.

"I still do not understand." The human leaned forwards in an earnest position, "Why not settle a world outside the influence of the Council? There are many worlds, at least as far as we have seen. With a fleet as mighty as yours, wouldn't it be simple enough to protect a lone system until your numbers increased once more?"

Waari decided to give the human the worst of the situation, at least from the quarian perspective. Perhaps this race still had charity, or at least business sense?

"That would be a good plan, except that my people are unique. We cannot digest the food most of the races, your own included, eat. We have a dextro-oriented physiology, while you and most races are levo-based. Turians are the only other species we know of that share this trait with us, and they have the largest military fleet in the galaxy. If we were to find a dextro-planet, the turians would most likely petition the Council to claim it for themselves. Since our embassy has been expelled from the Citadel, we cannot fight such a move on equal terms. We _could_ fight the turians for it, and our fleet would be able to stand up to them, but if war breaks out, the asari, salarians and other vassal races would aid the turians. At that point, we might as well crack open our suits and commit suicide." Waari sat back, and waited.

The human seemed shell-shocked by the information. His face was a study in contrasts. Those strange asari-like eyes would narrow, mouth pursed and then widen reflectively. The multi-digit hands clenched intermittently, twitching oddly. Long minutes passed. Slowly, he faced the quarian, trying to find the hidden eyes with his own. "You … are banned from settling a new colony?" he asked, "How could any sentient species …."

Waari could see the misunderstanding, and felt torn. He could play the victim card and immediately gain as many resources for his people as possible, but that could lead to alienation from this new race, once they learned he'd lied. A long and profitable future, however … he could work for that.

"My people are not _banned_ exactly," he said, "We simply have a difficult time receiving permission to colonize." He looked down at his knees, "Honestly, my own people are divided on the subject. Some of us want to colonize a new world which would take centuries to adapt, and some of us want to retake the Homeworld. The end result is the same, we have been homeless for three centuries."

The human studied his faceplate closely. Waari could see the struggle to understand. For a human, it had to have been difficult, especially since they'd grown up on planets, listening to the stories of the wealthy colonies owned by his people. "I … I'm sorry," he whispered, "I had no idea …," he broke off, trying to fathom the immensity of the situation. "An entire race …."

Abruptly, he wheeled and headed for the door, "I must speak with my superiors. This changes the situation completely."

The door slammed, leaving the admiral to wonder if that was good...or bad. Having a meeting end within ten minutes of its starting…

* * *

_Arcturus_ Station

High Command Conference Chamber

"We HAVE to do something! These are a people that have nothing left to lose!"

"Balderdash! They must be lying. No one can create AI's; our best engineers have tried and failed for over a hundred years!"

Admiral Doering pounded his fist on the table, "Your 'best engineers' have been working on a problem that these 'quarians' appear to have solved centuries ago! Centuries! What's a few decades in comparison to five hundred years?"

General Calmonte pointed an accusing finger back at him, "Don't give me that rubbish. We've seen the best the batarians have to offer, and we can equal it or better! Where was the 'superiority of centuries' when the batarians needed it? If they had so much time available for designing new weapons, why were we able to defeat them?"

_"Defeat?"_ A calm voice cut through the ebb and flow, "Who said we _defeated_ the batarians?"

The feuding duo reluctantly put aside their argument, temporarily, "Captain Hackett, I am aware of your actions, but the fact remains—"

Hackett slashed his hand over the table, silencing the general. Only his reputation was keeping him from being put on report and he knew it, "The fact remains, sir, that we lost forty percent of one of the best-armed fleets in human history! _Forty percent_! If we had fought like this on Earth, we would have executed the leading officers for criminal neglect!"

The doors opened, silhouetting a tall figure just outside. "Well said, Captain," rumbled Prime Minister Thompson. The rest of the officers instantly rose in respect. The minister acknowledged them and sat at the head of the long table.

"Yet we did not execute those in command," he continued. "We promoted those who performed with valor and courage." His gaze cut to both Doering and Calmonte, "Something all of us should remember. We sent a fleet to hunt for our people, armed with the best we knew how to build, voluntarily financed by the colonies, and crewed by the most fervent of volunteers. If it were not for the swift thinking of its leadership, we would still be wondering what had happened."

"I do not see how this is the concern of the Ministry," Doering interjected. "Fleet actions are solely the province of the Alliance Admiralty."

The minister smiled pleasantly, voice as sweet as honey, "But you see Admiral, the Alliance receives its funding as taxes from the people. And I, as Prime Minister, have been selected to lead the Alliance government by those very same people. Unlike _you_."

Somehow, the space around the general seemed to expand without moving. Military stuck with military, especially in the face of politicians. But not when such an arrogant error occurred. Admiral Doering knew it.

"I apologize," he bowed his head, "I was not thinking."

"It is clear you were not," the minister agreed. "My position compels me, or someone of my stature, to be elected once every four years. You, on the other hand, hold your position for life, or are dismissed for actionable offense. It is _your_ task to protect the Alliance as best as you see fit, while it is _mine_ to govern your actions as _I_ see fit."

The elderly man looked up and down the table, "That is why I am here. I have been informed that the representative of an entire race, a race devoted to maintaining and directing a fleet of such size as would utterly _destroy_ us, has been left cooling his heels while you lot bandy semantics," his voice rose in anger. "This is _not the time_ to play politics! Our kin are being stolen from their homes; kidnapped, enslaved, _murdered_. And you wish to debate the merits of hiring consultants?" The group had to strain their ears as his voice fell to a quiet whisper, "_How dare you?_"

"It's not just that, sir," one of the admirals spoke up. "It's just that Emissary Julian here," he indicated the man in question, "wishes for us to give entire systems to this race. Systems we can use to develop our own fleet, resources we could turn into more vessels and economic boons. Those are possibilities that would allow us to build more ships and fund a war against the batarians."

"Besides, there is this 'Council' to worry about." A lower-ranking general said from farther down the table. "These quarians seem to be on the bad side of this Citadel confederation, and aiding them in any way could be viewed as an act of war. Are we certain we should take sides with so little information?"

The Prime Minister listened carefully, "These are good points. But they are not what I heard being discussed when I entered this room."

He turned towards the nervous diplomat, "Emissary. Why should we give away something we can use at the risk of enraging an enemy so very large?"

Julian swallowed. He hadn't quite anticipated meeting with the entire Admiralty board when he'd made his request. Having the Prime Minister involved made this situation even further above his pay grade.

"I don't necessarily wish to _give_them our territory, sirs." He keyed a map of the galaxy on the holographic terminal, "If you look here, we have a full half-dozen planets with life adjusted for the reverse-chiral structure these quarians seem to have. We cannot use them, they are dead to us."

"We can use them for their resources," Calmonte shrugged, "Minerals are minerals, no matter what life lives on them."

"That is a waste!" Julian insisted. "Forgetting the potential gifts these planets could give our research, these are worlds that are worth their weight in _element zero_ to these quarians. What _we_ know about the Council, about the batarians, or just about the galaxy in general is _nothing_ next to what the quarians know."

"So we send an envoy to this Council and request an encyclopedia?" Calmonte shot back. "We might evenwant to give a world to these turians, they seem to be a powerhouse. Get on their good side."

Julian stopped to consider, "That's…actually a good idea. But are we ready to deal with the main military power of the Council? I say we court these quarians. We should ask them to teach us what they know, pay them for their services, and become firm trading partners. They have a strong navy. If we become good trade partners, they might side with us in times of trouble."

Calmonte half-rose, "Ridiculous! This isn't even a debate anymore, it's an apologetics session for your—"

"_I will have order!"_ The Prime Minister slapped the table. He glared until the offending parties resumed staring. "Captain Hackett, you have the most experience with the quarian navy. What do you think of their capabilities?"

The young man considered the question carefully, "Sir, I would state that their Heavy Navy would be the equal to our _Revenge_ fleet." He ignored the outcry from a miffed party, "The vessels I saw had heavy armor, large weapons and above all, a tactical mastery we cannot hope to employ right now. I would surmise they speak the truth when they claim to have been in space their entire lives; their ships looked as if they hadn't seen a shipyard in decades." He looked back at snickers, "I mean, they didn't have a polished look. They looked _plenty_deadly, like they've had repair work that enhanced their ships without worrying about aesthetics."

The minister smiled, "So what we have here is the opportunity to make some money off a race that would become firm trading partners, and a source of knowledge." A glare down the table, "And lest you think I am being too mercenary, I will point out that the Alliance populace has been deeply, _deeply_ affected by the batarian attacks. We need to establish friendly relations with an alien race, and do it _fast_. Otherwise, we risk becoming a race of xenophobes, and we just fought a battle with a race of those idiots."

He stood, the rest of the officers automatically standing with him, "Gentlemen, we have a golden opportunity here. We will simultaneously establish relations with the quarians and gain leverage against the batarians. We _will_ do it despite any personal feelings. I bid you a good day."

* * *

_Arcturus_ Station

Guest Quarter

Waari paced nervously. The carpeting was soft, letting his feet sink almost a full inch before stopping. He wasn't used to that, and _that_just increased the nervousness level. _There is enough to be nervous about_, he told himself. _You shouldn't add to the load_. But he couldn't help it.

He'd made a mistake, failed his people. He shouldn't have revealed so much at once; he should have delayed the information until he knew more about his hosts. The data was public knowledge, true, but here it had been of utmost importance. Should he have held it back to negotiate with?

The door slid open and Emissary Julian walked in. He looked exhausted as far as Waari could tell. The bags underneath the aliens' eyes didn't look normal at any rate. His shoulders were slumped as well.

Julian slumped onto the sofa he'd vacated hours ago, further confirming Waari's perception. Something had happened in the past five hours.

"Is everything all right, Emissary?" he asked.

The diplomat smiled tiredly, "Yes, I am fine, thank you. I've just had a somewhat unexpected…meeting with the Admiralty board."

That made the quarian's ears prick up. If the Human Admiralty Board was anything like the quarian version, then important things had been discussed indeed!

"And … how did it go?" he asked cautiously.

Julian propped his chin on a fist, "Well, good and bad. They want me to make you a proposal."

"What is it?"

"Well, first off, we need to learn about the rest of the galaxy. We would prefer to know it from an outside source, one who doesn't wish to show us the _planta_-coated story (1)."

Waari nodded, this sounded reasonable.

"Second, we need to learn more tactics for space combat. Our expertise has been sadly limited to a single surprise attack on …" here the human's words slurred uncertainly, "_Kol'Shan_? It wasn't a rousing success, I assure you. We lost forty percent of the fleet we'd sent there, and barely made a dent in their defenses."

"Third, we have good technology, but we have no idea how it stands against Galactic Standard. We have some test material from when our colonies put up a fight, but not enough to give us an idea about what opposition we could expect, in case we're invaded." The envoy sighed gustily, "So much for what we need. Now here is what we can pay."

The quarian became very attentive at this point.

"We're willing to offer the usage of three reverse-chiral planets to your people. We can't live down there, any pollen inhalation would risk death."

His eyes locked on Waari's. The admiral sensed that the human was trying to tell him something without outright saying it ….

"If the quarian people would be willing to take on the responsibility of caring for these planets, and helping us with the other things I mentioned, the Alliance will give them two _Anvil_ class _Forge_ stations, access to our markets, regular shipyards, and a guarantee of safety within our borders."

Waari was glad he was seated. His knees felt weak. He _hadn't_ failed … this was by far the most generous offer his people had received since the geth uprising. His first instinct was to fall to his knees and thank the Ancestors.

Instead he shifted his position, lifting his helmet. He didn't tilt it enough to intimate he was condescending, but enough to show confidence.

"If I understand you correctly, the Alliance wants the quarian people to teach them about the galaxy, how to fight, and offer you test material for your experiments. You want us to bring you up to speed on the entire galaxy, something the Council trains individual asari for _centuries_ to do, and in return you will _let us use_ some of your resources? Your barely-FTL society will protect us from a galaxy?"

Julian winced, "I know it seems like we are asking a great deal, but we have much to offer as well. May I?" he moved to the computer terminal. A few keystrokes, and he called up a map of the galaxy, "This is a territory map of Alliance holdings. This is our homeworld, Earth," a system highlighted towards the edge of the map, "and here are the rest of our holdings which include around thirty systems, give or take. Our population, as of the last census, reached the forty-billion mark, with a growth rate of approximately 3.7% annually."

"Our fleet, by our estimates, is not the equal to the turians or your own. From what we know or guess, our fleet strength is equal to or greater than that of the asari and salarian fleets combined, at least in numbers." The holo-screen flickered, changing to images of warships. "I won't bore you with the technical rundown, but we have close to nine thousand ships, ready for war. The majority are fighter/bombers, with a concentration in frigates and destroyers. All of the dreadnought and higher class are carrying our Hawking Engines, and forty percent of our Cruiser classes are upgraded, with the rest in line for upgrades."

Waari mentally checked the sizes of what he remembered as he'd been flown in against the Fleet. These "battleships" massed more than a turian dreadnought, and seemed to be capable of dealing a great deal of damage … but still ….

"These, 'Hawking Engines'?" he asked. "What are they?"

Julian smiled, "When we built our first Faster-Than-Light Engine, we had barely enough Element Zero to create a single prototype. We stripped down the weight as much as we could, not that there was much excess, and were able to reduce the amount of eezo required. After we discovered a salarian vessel exploring our territory, we figured out that the galaxy at large uses a great deal more, at least if the sample we had was a typical example of galactic engines."

"So, several minds from MIT, a university on our homeworld, theorized that the conceptual model of a black-hole ship would be highly feasible with a little more Element Zero. Since eezo controls gravity, and a Hawking Engine runs on gravity, it seemed a natural fit. Now, one of our Hawking Engines, with an eezo shell, can produce more energy than a dozen drives similar to the one on the salarian vessel."

He steepled his fingers, "I am sure you are aware of the … difficulty … the Citadel gives any species who aids the quarian race. We are familiar with the concept of 'blackballing,' and these Council races seem fully capable of initiating any trade embargo they wish. Since we want trade with the Council races, we cannot risk causing difficulties."

Julian sat back, mournfully considering his hands, "I imagine the Council would not look kindly upon either of our races for choosing to resettle outside their influence. Consequently, the Alliance is unable to give, sell, or rent our levo-based planets to the quarians."

Waari's heart sank, he'd _known_ better, but the humans' previous words had given him hope.

"However…we will _hire_ any interested quarians as … caretakers … of any reverse-molecular worlds we possess, and grant them visas. Of course, terms of the contract—" he stared at Waari again with that intense gaze, "would be negotiable. It is understood that proper … research … may require field work of an … extended duration."

The admiral hesitated, hope soaring. _Should I? It's a great deal already, but a little more would help my people so much_ … he decided to push for as much as he could get.

"Most quarians have very strong family structures, and are essential for maintaining their ships," he warned. "While your offer is very generous, I don't know if we can spare the manpower required to help care for an entire planet."

The human smiled, showing all of his teeth, "If the quarians need resources for vessel repair, I am certain that we could lease out the mining rights to any systems we are not using, particularly the systems we would be giving, I beg your pardon … _contracting_ … to the care of your people. As a bonus, we'll throw in a pair of _Hammer_ class _Forge_ stations free of charge; they're the complementary station to the _Anvil_ class. One pair can create the foundations for a full-sized shipyard, if you have the right mining vessels."

The admiral gave a faint warbling whistle, "Then I see no other course but to accept your offer, Emissary Julian. I will, of course, need to relay the details to my people but I have no doubt they will accept."

"Excellent." The human withdrew a pair of flasks from an inner pocket, handing one to the quarian, "That is dextro-ale, just brewed by a few boys down in R&D. A toast to the quarians, may our partnership long prosper."

Admiral Waari'nar Quinsin raised the flask, "And to the humans, may their future be as great as their hearts."

* * *

1) _Planta_: a quarian vegetable-based sweetening. In this situation, the quarian translator converted the human adjective to the closest analogue.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone, and thank you for reading! I am especially grateful to those of you who gave me some excellent suggestions via Review and PM. I'd love to use all the ideas you guys had, but unfortunately, this fic can't go quite that far. I'm good, but I don't think I'm up to writing a 500,000 word epic ... but any ideas I do use, I promise to give full credit to the donors. If I somehow miss giving credit, call me on it and I will put up your username.**

**The Poll is still up for the Kaidan/Ashley vote; I will leave it up until the end of the Prequal, then take it down and assess my situation. Currently, I have written a bit for the ME1 fic, but mostly just scenes, and how they will interact. The TimeLine is being altered a little as well, to make things easier.**

**I would like to thank NightStride for his untiring beta work (I tell you, he has grammar rules flash-burned to his brain!), and the other reviewers who make this all worthwhile. I'd also like to give a shout-out to one of the best forums on Fanfic, the Aria's Afterlife Forum. If you want some great stories or ideas, head on over!**

**Kudos also to foreman371, my 100th reviewer! Thanks to everyone whom has been reviewing and PMing. You guys rock!**

**Until next week, this is Chuck, signing off.**


	12. Chapter 12: Shanxi part I

_The Quarians helped our technology immensely. With some tweaking, our computers were soon able to run their most complex VI programs, although not as efficiently. While our systems were more powerful in some ways, the quarians had us beat in efficiency. Additionally, despite the nigh bottomless power source of a Hawking Engines, there were many limits, ranging from size and mass compensation to the quantity of engines able to be placed in close proximity. We still have very little hard information on how gravity influences itself._

_Unfortunately, we had only a few short months to experiment and grow. The quarians stayed away from our human-dominant systems, and we reciprocated the action. Neither of us knew if the Council would do anything about the slave situation, and the Alliance was not interested in making a First Contact with a decidedly weaker navy. After-action reports on the Vengeance Fleet told me the Batarians destroyed nearly 30% of the active ships, and the codex data told us the batarians had one of the smallest fleets in Council Space. At my suggestion, the Alliance pulled multiple fleets in to our shipyards, reducing the refit time exponentially._

_That was one of my greatest mistakes._

_Our outer colonies were exposed, since the fleets were in for refit. The ships, being outfitted with the Hawking Engines and quarian-assisted upgrades, were unable to leave the shipyards to help any colonies._

_The end result? The batarians apparently managed to send several small fleets in our general direction, and convinced the Turian Hierarchy that a dangerous, primitive culture existed. Primitive cultures did not require Council notification, so the Hierarchy was able to send a pacification fleet with no notice ... well, none that would reach the Council in time._

_~Director Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD _

_Project __Ragnarök Files_

* * *

Turian Dreadnought _Attalan_

Theta System

Admiral Drakan Octan

The batarian squinted at his omni-tool, carefully reading the directives. _"Yes, this is the place. The research my people have done indicates our attackers came from behind this relay."_

Admiral Octan glared at the batarian admiral. "This Relay is closed." He let the silence build, adding pressure to his opposite.

"You expect me to believe a primitive race opened this Relay, used it to reach Kar'Shan, and returned all without letting anyone know?"

_"Of course not!"_ The batarian protested, _"This Relay has been frozen for centuries, if not more!"_

"Then _why_ did you request support?" Octan dug his talons into the cloth covering of his chair, "I had to pull rank over three separate officers. _Three!_ If this is nothing, my career is over. Ruined. You brought me here to see a dead Relay?"

_"I brought you here to bring justice for my people,"_ Trebak growled. _"Never doubt my desire to protect my people. This Relay is a back door into their territory, leading directly into one of their main trade hubs. If it werent' for the Accords that forbade individual species from opening a Relay, you can be assured I wouldn't have bothered you from your oh-so-important patrols. The Terminus Systems are in chaos, and you aren't doing any good there anyway. Here, you are serving a good purpose."_

Octan stifled the urge to cancel the communication. _The only purpose I'm serving right now is yours, Trebak, and you know it._

"Very well, Admiral. As you requested, I am here to dispense justice. Let's open this Relay and get it over with, a primitive species like you've described shouldn't be a problem."

Trebak narrowed all four eyes. _"Don't be so vain. They are vicious, cunning brutes, with no respect for their betters. Give them half a chance, and they will claw your eyes out."_

Raising his cranial ridges in mock surprise, Octan nodded with exaggerated care, "Then, it is well that turians don't have as many eyes, no?"

This time, he cut the communication before the irritating batarian could bait him again. _I better make contact with General Arterius. Keep it vague, but pertinent, who knows what these alien primitives could have?_

* * *

Special Operations Group Salath

Turian transport _Mentaya_

General Desoleus Arterius examined the rows of soldiers at his disposal. Their armor was clean, but not shimmering. Serviceable, but not flashy. Just the way it should be. _This_ was how victories were won. Not with posturing and politics, but with local, overwhelming violence.

"The Hierarchy has given us an assignment of utmost importance," he announced. "These _primitives _have caused enough injustice to bring a serious threat to the galaxy. Not just batarian," he rolled his eyes in mock imitation of the species, eliciting a laugh, "But the rest of the galaxy could be harmed by this."

He glared at the nearest soldier, "We are _T__urian_. We will not allow this."

The responding angry growls made him smile. "Our orders are to go in, hit them where it hurts, and get out. Quick and hard. Don't worry about the standard rules of war. This planet is outside Council law, and as such, leaves us free to do" he paused, "whatever is necessary."

The noise of shifting bodies grew quieter. He watched their faces as his words sank in. Several soldiers looked stunned. Two in the back were fidgeting excitedly; he'd have to watch them.

He bared his fangs in a faux-friendly display, "Are there any questions?"

There were none.

* * *

Turian Dreadnought _Attalan_

Theta System

Admiral Drakan Octan

Admiral Octan gazed over the tactical display. _Forty ships. That's it. The 3rd Task Force isn't the largest fleet I could have received, but at least I have a decent amount of firepower._ That was good. _Less than an invasion force, but more than a scout patrol … the salarians might pick up on this, but it'll be far too late when they do._

The alien fleet was pathetically small by comparison, they numbered less than half of the 3rd Fleet's forward elements. The two largest vessels were obviously not dreadnoughts, since they were smaller than the _Attlan_. The rest of the fleet consisted of what looked like support vessels. Some of had fairly obvious weapon emplcements; spine-mounted accelerator cannon were fairly ubiquitous after all. Unless the aliens had improved their designs beyond what the turians had found in the Prothean Cache on Menae, their guns, based on their ships appearance, would be of lesser effectiveness.

Some of the design differences just _looked_ poorly made, though. Several of the alien vessels had long metal rods extending from their hulls, spirits only knew why. One of the larger vessels even had a large red symbol on its side. No one on the Admirals' staff had any idea about its meaning.

Facing the aliens from a hidden vantage point behind a planet, Octans' 3rd Fleet had three Dreadnoughts, and four more in the next Relay-linked system, plus a mix of over fifty cruisers and frigates. _Theoretically_, the admiral thought, _we could wipe out the entire human fleet with our support craft alone._

Accompanying his own fleet was a batarian military convoy, under his command, of course. Octan had no illusions that the batarians would obey him in the heat of battle, but if they tried anything abysmally stupid he would ensure their people paid for it. It was the only sure way to keep peace after all.

The more cautious aspect of his mind reminded him of the destruction in the Harsha system. The Batarian homeworld was not an easy _klin (1)_ to scale after all. _But that must have taken their entire fleet_, he reasoned. _N__ewcomers typically claim far more planets than they can protect._

At present, the 3rd Fleet, including the flagship _Attalan_, stayed well outside the alien vessels' range. Showing fewer vessels than he actually had available was a necessary gamble, which was ensured by keeping the larger part of his forces safely hidden in the next system. It was a mixed blessing on how the Relays refused to reveal exactly how they detected vessels wishing transport, yet were apparently incapable of broadcasting that same information. The salarians had worked tirelessly for centuries, attempting to circumvent that particular programming, but to no avail. Until someone built a dedicated stealth vessel for reconnaissance, they had to rely on the _Mist of Conflict_ (2), timing, and of course, superior firepower.

"Admiral, we have confirmation from Palaven," his Second spoke up, "they have given us the order to attack at our discretion. We also have a communication from Admiral Trebak of the batarian fleet. And after … ah … cleaning the language, he says to hurry before he starts without you."

Octan grunted in response and examined the coordinates within the Theta system one final time. "Then let it begin."

The display before the admiral showed the Relay, the alien ships "protecting" the region, and the elements of the 3rd Fleet in-system. It also showed an intriguing asteroid field where ships could take cover, several planets suitable for discharging Eezo drives, and a garden world no one had claimed. Well, almost no one. The batarians had claimed it, but then the batarians claimed everything within five hundred light-years of their territory.

Octan took a moment to sympathize with the aliens, at least in part. The batarians had been sufficiently awed by the turians in their own First Contact; awed enough to ensure they would batarians would never attack a turian world. They had been less impressed with the asari however. An asari colony had once been "annexed" less than fifty years earlier, and the colonists returned only after being threatened by the 5th Turian Fleet. To this day, the batarians attacked whomever they deemed to be in a weak position.

_That particular aspect of batarian psychology was a major reason why I'd argued to teach these aliens exactly whom held the military power in the galaxy. _Octan growled a sub-harmonic curse, ignoring how his subordinates flinched. _Batarians never attack a strong opponent, unless they are backed into a corner. By attacking these new aliens, the batarians have announced they believe them to be weak. If the aliens are similar to batarians, and the Harsha results showed disturbing similarities, they will need to learn the same lesson the batarians did centuries ago._

He watched his attack fleet drop off the map. _It is possible_, he mused, _that the batarians made a mistake. But then, they have never attacked the krogan, or any race they feared. It stands to reason they have accurately judged this new race. Legally or no, they established First Contact. After all, they must possess information the Salarians have yet to obtain_.

The display shimmered as the assault fleet dropped into real-space once more. It was positioned perfectly amongst the unsuspecting alien ships.

The three dreadnoughts, main guns already primed, slammed their payloads home. Hyper-accelerated rounds punched through the human cruiser shields, coring deep craters in the hulls.

_Odd, aliens must have weak armor, or none at all… _Octan thought_. Perhaps they were just lucky at Kar'Shan_ ….

The turian cruisers were only a fraction of a second behind the dreadnoughts, launching a fusillade at point-blank range into the rest of the now-enemy vessels. All but one of the targeted ships shuddered under the impact. The one ship that hadn't was already spinning in place, orienting itself away from the fight.

_He's … running?_ Octan thought incredulously. _Their capabilities must be even worse than I'd thought. There's no other Relay within FTL range, where does he think he can go?_

After another moment's thought, he shrugged the matter away. _No matter. So long as the Relay is off-line until we need it, the aliens cannot be warned._

"Admiral," one of his subordinates saluted, "we have confirmation of their vessels self-destructing. They've launched escape pods, and are headed towards the garden planet. Also, the _Palanor_ is requesting permission to pursue and destroy the escaped ship."

_What secrets could such a primitive race have for us?_ "_Palanor _is to stay with the fleet, same with the batarians. We have business in this species territory, and I want every ship present for it, not chasing a coward."

* * *

Shanxi

Salem (Capital City)

Shanxi was a smaller colony, out on the borders of Alliance space. Thanks to the maps obtained from the salarian explorers, the Alliance had known that the turians owned the region beyond the Shanxi-Theta Relay.

Consequently, the Alliance military had insisted on a strong military presence in the area. Twin _Olympus_ class battle stations were sent to the colony, along with an _Anvil_ class Forge station. A full company of _Hephaestus_ mech-armor engineers were sent as well, aiding the colonial infrastructure and beginning development of a shipyard. Shipping finished metal from the rest of the Alliance to Shanxi was expensive, so the more it could produce on its own, the better the entire economy would be.

The Navy presence, however, was reduced after the initial contact with the batarians. It was believed that the turians, who possibly knew of the Alliance, would not treat them as they had other species. Humans had shown Quarian ambassadors their shipyards, their home stations, and of course, the mighty _Arcturus_ station. While not nearly as large as the Citadel, _Arcturus_ still reached twenty some kilometers in diameter, suitably impressive to demonstrate human advancement. Or so it they hoped.

General Williams noticed the first indication of trouble when the patrol fleet failed to meet their scheduled check-in. This close to the border, adherence to the timetable was crucial; officers had been court-martialed for neglecting to stay in touch with the home base.

The second indication was the duration of that communication gap. Even the most absent-minded of commanders would have officers and clocks to remind him. But the time since the last communication had elapsed eighteen hours, grounds for treason if for no other reason. But that lack of communication meant he had to proceed as if something was wrong.

First, he ordered the activation of all deterrents around the Shanxi Relay. It had been made clear to the Council that the Alliance would not allow Council-based vessels into their own space. There had been some complaining about that, and Williams understood the source, but the best security in the galaxy was worthless if an enemy fleet could just waltz through.

Second, he gave the order for the Shanxi militia to mobilize. He had a full Army Division under his command, but the colonists did not wish to trust their safety solely to the hands of others. Williams approved fully; being a victim started with refusing to defend.

The third and final step, and the one move he'd been procrastinating upon, was to inform Alliance Command about the situation. Which brought him to the present, talking to the aforementioned via Relay Link.

_"We received your report. Has the situation changed?"_

General Williams straightened, "No, sirs. As per regulation thirty-seven-see, dash four-nine-two, I have placed the colony on yellow alert, and activated the Class Two deterrents surrounding the Relay.

A gray-haired admiral nodded once, tiredly. _"Very good. A delayed communication for this long … it has to be bad. We asked our quarian advisors to lend their insight for the situation. General, this is Captain Gai'Raan vas Tonbay; and I am sure by now you know the General, Captain?"_

The suited figure to the admirals' left bowed his head in greetings, _"Of course, a relative of yours aided my wife in repairs out by the Torlah sector."_

Williams bowed respectfully, "Your experience is welcome, Captain. Do you have any suggestions?"

_"I would recommend going to full alert. If you have any anti-ship capabilities, I would highly recommend pushing them to battle-status. The turians do not believe in half-measures."_

"Turians?' "Williams exclaimed, "Why would turians be attacking us? We're a small colony, we don't even have a proper manufacturing center here!"

The quarian put his fingertips together, "_The only species in control on the other side of that Relay is the Turians. The asari would not attack, they have an almost pathological resistance to actual war. The salarians are too far away for them to feel threatened enough to land soldiers, and the batarians would not dream of sending a fleet so far into turian space … without turian approval. Turians do not allow military fleets through their space without an equally powerful fleet to accompany them. If your patrol is not responding, then I would say there is a good chance it is gone, and that the turians have an ability to wipe out a human patrol in such a fashion."_

"I see," Williams grimaced. This situation was going all kinds of inter-galactic political, not his strong point, "Then by your leave, gentlemen, I have a war to plan."

The human admiral made a calming gesture, _"Right now, we are not completely certain there is an invasion. However, just to be safe, we are checking what resources are readily available. Admiral Doenig is slated to be in charge of a relief fleet, but the logistics for repelling a full-strength invasion will take time to organize."_ His voice sank almost below hearing, _"I wish that Cerberus team had been on the ball with this. Why are we funding them anyway?"_

_"Because Banes won't let them go under, that's why,"_ muttered another general.

"Understood, Admiral. If there's an invasion, we will hold out until you get here," General Williams offered a salute. The individuals acknowledged it, or in the case of the quarian who spread his hand in a gesture of support, and keyed off the signal.

Williams sighed, looking at his desk. He was a family man, he did not love war. Still, he had a responsibility to the people of Shanxi. If the turians wanted a fight, they would get one.

"Chakoty," he called his assistant, "get me a list of all available mercenaries, militias and retired soldiers on Shanxi. I also want the frequency of every township as soon as possible. We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

Theta System

Admiral Drakan Octan

"Sir, the batarian fleet is moving ahead!" an aide shouted.

Octan sighed. He'd expected something like this ever since the Council had ordered "multi-racial" efforts. In his experience, ordering inter-galactic cooperation was similar to ordering a plate of _jeu'lub_ delivered to his cabin. The idea was nice, but the end result depended on a lot more than just an order being given_; in this case, little things like discipline, honesty and a clear chain of command._

"Patch me a line," he ordered wearily, "I'll talk to Trebak myself."

The displays reconfigured themselves into a command channel. He found himself once more face-to-face with Admiral Trebak. The batarian had a victorious smirk, one that Octan wished he could remove personally.

_"Admiral Octan, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?" _ the batarian asked.

"You know very well what the problem is, _Admiral_," Octan fired back. "Recall your ships to their assigned positions immediately."

Admiral Trebak scowled. "_My people have been greatly insulted by these humans, it is … hard, compelling them to ignore such impertinence_."

Octan kept his own scowl on the inside, flicking his mandibles to reflect a mildly irritated position. _He knew their name and didn't bother telling me? _"Then I would suggest you find more compelling arguments. Otherwise, I am afraid that the current batarian trade routes to Dramek may find itself infested with patrols."

The scowl turned into an angry frown. "_My people are honest traders, __you have no right to discriminate their trade with the krogan!_"

"I have _every_ right," Octan emphasized his point with a talon aimed at his adversary's throat. "When krogan start acquiring large quantities of BCA armaments, I _can_, and _will_, throw political correctness out the airlock! Now follow orders as we agreed, or that inspection patrol will be in place _yesterday!_"

The line disconnected.

The turian admiral keenly watched his display. Roughly half the batarian forces slowed, turning back. The rest kept on, pressing for the Relay the turians had just reactivated.

"Comm, contact the Hierarchy. Let them know the trade routes to Dramek are probably smuggling weapons to the krogan," Octan growled. _Now I have to think of another threat to keep what's left of the batarians in line._

He opened a channel to the batarian admiral, hoping for reason. He received no response.

* * *

Shanxi

General Williams headquarters.

Colonies were built on the backs of their citizens. People grew the food, built the prefabs, and gave their lives to make the colony grow. It took great quantities of hard labor to make a colony thrive, particularly to raise the food needed to keep it self-sustaining.

It came as no surprise then that over 50% of a fairly new colony consisted of farmers. It was also no surprise that those farmers were some of the most zealous members of the militia. They knew the land, they worked it and felt the greatest amount of pride in their accomplishments.

General Williams wished he had more of them, they knew how to struggle, and more importantly, how to kill. They named their beef cattle after all, raised them from calves for the slaughter. Death was as much a part of them as life. They would need that pragmatic attitude to survive the coming storm.

"Gentlemen, we are going to be at war within days," his words sounded more impressive when spoken through an amplifier. Right now, he was talking with the township leaders in his office, crowded though it was. "I will be giving orders for the militias to prepare for deployment, but I wanted to warn you first." He leaned on his elbows, focusing on the small group, "We appear to have aggravated the turians. The quarian advisor we hired advises maximum preparations," he swallowed, "so I have activated the nuclear defense measures by the Relay. That's how serious I believe this to be."

Kattan, of the East District Township swore under his breath, "This is bad, Jim. How are we supposed to protect ourselves from those monsters?"

"We are opening the bunkers for all civilians. Anyone not directly involved in fighting or support is to head down there. High-priority will be given to the infirm and the youth, try to keep families together. We'll put them in the submerged bunker under Lake Calenhad. Everyone else can go to the caves west of here if necessary."

Williams shook out an order printout, "I am also authorizing you to hire mercenaries. If we have any dirt-side, I want them working for us, not the turians.

"I know of one," Aiden, of the South District Township spoke up. "Named Harper. He has a small team here, getting ready to head out to the Terminus Systems. He won't come cheap, though."

"Get him. Bribe him with a set of power armor if you have to, but make sure he's on _our_ side." Williams signed a permission form, and handed it over, "Get him an _Iapetus_ mech if you can. _Prometheus _if he drags his feet. Same for any other merc, but only if you think they're worth it. Otherwise, send them to the Base; I'm pretty sure a platoon of Marines can keep them under control."

A chiming alert went off on his desk, claiming his attention. "What the …." He looked up at the leaders. "They made it through the Relay! Get moving!"

The group of men shoved their way from his room, already contacting their own personnel.

Back on Williams display, the Relay showed its awakening. The formerly inert Element Zero core attained a higher energy level, sending arcs of blue-white energy around itself. The first pseudo-light images of an incoming vessel flickered at its base, growing in intensity until a warship flashed into existence.

General Williams stared. On appearances alone, the unknown vessel was built purely for tactical dominance and cargo capacity. While a more streamlined shape would have been aesthetically pleasing, there was no reason with a craft that never entered an atmosphere. This craft was visually hideous, with bulging sides and turrets mounted at odd angles. The overall effect was of a monster from the ocean depths, rising to take vengeance.

That ship wasn't turian in design, it was _batarian_. Countless hours with Intelligence briefings had given him a good grounding in inter-spatial ship design. But he didn't need the training to notice the other significant point. The ship wasn't alone.

Multiple vessels appeared _en masse_ near the Relay, similar in design, united in cause. Some were larger than others, but none were above a standard cruiser in size.

Williams caught his breath. T_hey beat me to the punch._ Quickly, he accessed the defenses network, flicking through permissions, signing page after page. He soon reached the end, hitting the final activation sequence, and looked up.

Out of the twenty or so attacking ships, there was only one left; the rest were twirling pieces of wreckage. _What?_

The remaining ship made a break for the Relay, but something reached out from nowhere, gently stroking the shimmering field around the slavers' vessel. The field shrank, leaving the vessel to make the jump unshielded.

Williams swallowed hard. No one had made a Relay jump unshielded, not even Admiral Grissom. The results on test probes had been … unpleasant.

His misgivings eased slightly when an Alliance patrol vessel dropped out of FTL just outside orbit. They increased when he saw the shape it was in ... even twenty batarian ships couldn't have destroyed the entire patrol sent to the Relays' twin. Its hull was scorched from energy overloads, and holes lined one side, but the crippled vessel still managed to pull into orbit. Those markings, more than the few batarian ships destroyed, confirmed it. Shanxi was at war.

* * *

1) _Klin_: a small reptile with metallic scales. Considered a delicacy, and a nutritious source of magnesium.

2) _Mist of Conflict:_ a concept originated by the respected turian general, Jielan Victus, a line of soldiers highly respected for its devotion to duty, and clarity of thought regarding war. The central idea revolved around the concept information on a battlefield, or the lack thereof. From a commander's perspective, everything on a battlefield beyond immediate eyesight was hidden, or covered by a mist.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this is late going up. I was on the road for 12+ hours yesterday and fell asleep editing this chapter.**

**I've also received a few comments about dropping ideas and running, would more chapters be better, or should I just rewrite a chapter (including all that's within the chapter) with more information? I'm open to either way.**

**Lake Calenhad … what can I say? DA:O was a great game :)**

**If you spotted the Star Trek _Voyager_ reference, you get a cookie! My favorite Star Trek series.**

**Update: 9/7/2014**

**I added a paragraph to the beginning, adding a little description. Thanks to Sandric whom helped me with this! Any suggestions improving this chapter, or making the entire story run more smoothly are welcome!**

**UpdateL 9/8/2014**

**A little clarification for the last paragraph. Only batarian ships came through the Relay.**


	13. Chapter 13: Shanxi part II

**A/N: Just a request to vote in the Kaidan/Ashley poll on my profile; every vote helps! Back to the story ...**

* * *

_This was the first time our N7 corps were truly put to the test. We had operatives on most major worlds … I saw "we" when I should say "the Alliance." I had little to do with that program, other than help it start. That was something Jack regretted much later._

_Shanxi was a surprise to all of us. Had we known what was coming, we would have fortified it with enough armaments to stop a Reaper, as the saying goes. As it was, it had a fairly major contingent, since it was a stop on the training circuit. Not a "very" major complement, but a few tens of thousands. Not enough for a serious planetary battle._

_They soldiers what that had too, despite everything. Naturally, they became heroes._

_Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer, PhD, MD_

_~Project __Ragnarök Files_

* * *

Shanxi

Anderson

The NightStalker armor fit Anderson like a glove. The carbon weave fabric expanded with his movements, soundlessly allowing full range of motion. He initiated a test of the suit, sending blue lines from his gloves at every movement, eezo nodes flaring like miniature suns. The armor itself was dark, a mottled brown and black, tinging to green whenever the receptors detected plant life nearby.

A faint hum echoed from his helmet speakers, telling him the shields were online, ready for battle. The reflective visor hid his smirk. _There's nothing like the feel of cutting edge hardware to make your day_. He indulged himself for a moment, activating the weapons suite, though careful to aim skywards.

A wire-frame image of his suit popped up on the HUD, blue markings highlighting the systems. It moved as he did, flexing its skin weave, like a living thing. The onboard grenade launcher extending from his lower arm, just under the mini-facture engine was just a part of the armament. The real power, and secret, of the NightStalker armor was its concentrated Element Zero nodes.

Humanity didn't have the same access to element zero as the rest of the galaxy. As a consequence, there were very few biotic humans. Those that were in existence had been snapped up by Special Forces or were trained as support. Although not feared by the rest of the Alliance, the biotics had a certain … flair … for combat. Studies had indicated that the eezo nodes sped up reaction times, highly useful on the battlefield.

The lack of biotics, in comparison to what the Salarian data indicated, had prompted the Alliance to develop an alternative. The NightStalker was that alternative: seven thousand kilometers of element zero nano-wiring, packed into an armor package.

Only the N7 were allowed to wear the NightStalker armor set. The design behind the armor was considered one of the best secrets of quarian/human engineering.

As the weapons systems powered down, Lieutenant Anderson had noticed a few mercenaries bullying better gear out of the Alliance quartermaster. While he agreed that everyone fighting for the Alliance should have top-grade hardware, he disagreed with their methodology, especially during times of war. The leader was particularly aggressive.

"We're sticking our necks out for you, we deserve to be paid for that risk, and paid well!" he was saying.

The quartermaster held his ground, although Anderson could tell his resolve was weakening. "I've already loaned you a set of _Prometheus_ armor, isn't that enough?"

The mercenary didn't budge, "Enough for our lives? We're protecting humanity here, not just some petty warlord squabble! Come on, I know you have better gear back there. Be reasonable."

Anderson stalked towards the small group, unsealing his faceplate. He'd had enough. "Is there a problem here?"

The quartermaster almost wilted in relief, "Sir, these people are pushing for free hardware."

"Not the way I'd put it," the lead mercenary interjected smoothly. "I would call it more of a loan keeping us alive."

Anderson slid behind the inventory counter, "Let me see what you have here, alright? Why don't you take a few minutes to check the stock?"

The quartermaster gladly fled to the back rooms, leaving the lieutenant to face the mercenaries alone.

"I don't think we've met before. I am Lieutenant David Anderson, Special Forces. Call me David." Anderson extended a gauntlet.

"I'm Jack Harper, I run a small mercenary outfit, although I suppose you could say we're a little too idealistic for most." The lead mercenary accepted the handshake, grasping firmly, "A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Anderson said dryly. "Now what brings you and yours to Shanxi? Not that I'm complaining, but a heavily armed squad is a little out of place here."

Harper eyed Andersons' armor. His eyes had an unusually intelligent glint, "Interesting, an N7 like yourself … Shanxi, an armada of Turians coming … I'd say there's almost a conspiracy going on."

Anderson snorted, "Vacation gone wrong, more accurately. Where I go, my armor goes. But you haven't answered me; turians show up, and you happen to have a squad ready to go?"

The mercenary chuckled lightly, "A similar explanation, really. I was getting ready to head out to the Terminus systems; they like heavily armed humans out there," he winked. "We stopped here to resupply just before crossing the Relay, and—" he waved his hand at sky absently, "then _that_ happened."

Anderson shrugged, "Well, fortunately, you happen to be in luck. I can let you have a _Iapetus_ power armor and a few small arms, but the rest you'll have to scrounge up yourself."

A petite, brown-haired woman stepped up. "Gives us a break, Lieutenant, you can do better than that."

"I'm sorry, who are you miss…?" Anderson smiled politely.

"This is Eva Corè, one of my colleagues," Harper cut in, "while she isn't exactly known for diplomacy, she is quite good at getting to the heart of a matter."

"Which is why we need good gear _now_," Eva insisted.

Anderson gave her a cool glare, emphasizing how unimpressed he was, "I have nearly fifty Special Forces to outfit, and trust me I take them a little more seriously than a mercenary group I've never met before."

"Perhaps we can make a deal?" Harper cut in, "I understand you don't trust us, and well you shouldn't. Mercenary groups and the Alliance haven't always gotten along; but what if you and I arranged an exchange?"

"What sort of trade?" Anderson kept his face neutral, but he had a feeling Harper was able to read him better than most.

"Any turian technology we discover will be delivered to you. In return, you will requisition weapons and armor for all three of us."

Anderson snorted, "The quarians can give us a better idea on turian hardware than a few samples, Harper. Try something else."

The mercenary's mouth curled upwards on one side, "You mean, we'd _trust_ the quarians to give us the equivalent hardware. We have no idea if they would actually just hand over cutting edge technology from the most powerful military in the galaxy."

"That's a remarkably paranoid outlook, Mister Harper," Anderson frowned, "we have no real reason to distrust them either, you know."

Harper chuckled, "A pessimist is what an optimist calls a realist, Lieutenant. I'd be happy to trust the quarians with our welfare, so long as I knew it was _our_ welfare they were concerned with." He turned serious, staring Anderson straight in the eye, "Give us the hardware we need, and we will give you any turian hardware we find. You can use what we turn in to check the quarians,{period} isn't that what the N7 program is about? Protecting the Alliance in any way possible?"

Anderson thought for a moment, listening to the wind whistle around the edge of the nearby buildings. He didn't like it, but the mercenary had a point. They _didn't_ know if the quarians were dealing in complete honesty. It was inhuman to think of a race that had expressed so much gratitude for the chiral planets they'd received to be so mercenary … but that was the point. They _were_ inhuman … no matter how much he wished to believe otherwise.

"Fine," he growled, "I'll get you some better equipment." The woman smirked triumphantly, prompting a quick mental twist, "But I will let you keep it _only_ if you bring back something equal in value. Understand?"

"Don't try becoming a mercenary, Lieutenant. You don't have the temperament for it," Harper smirked.

Anderson moved forwards, "I don't care what you think Harper. I know what my job is, and right now I am coming _this close_ to throwing all of you in the brig." He stepped back, trying to control his breathing, "But I figure you should be pointing guns at the turians, not at my back. So get out there, and if you even _think_ of double crossing me—" he glared pointedly at Eva, "I will hunt you down no matter where you go."

"Understood, Lieutenant," Harper agreed quietly. Eva said nothing.

* * *

General Williams

The planet was as secure as it could be, given the circumstances. All troops planet-side were in position, and the minor fleet elements that were present were in position next to the stations in orbit. The _Forge_ stations were not battle stations, he knew that very well, but their repair capabilities were unparalleled. The two could repair damage to any ship present in a matter of hours, which would be crucial in the upcoming battle.

The two _Olympus_ stations, however, were much better equipped for combat, and had extensive repair capabilities of their own. Each fielded a crew of nearly 12,000 and could hold their own against a small fleet. Their combined capabilities surpassed even a _Titan_ class battle station. With the _Forge_ stations present, they could hold their own against the entire _Revenge_ fleet if necessary.

It had been a matter of good fortune to have an N7 on Shanxi. He'd read the reports on the new program. The men and women who were only _invited_ to undergo the first level of training were known to be highly proficient. An N5 was rumored to be the equivalent of an entire squad, and the ones who reached the N7 ranking … well, he didn't place much faith in rumors. But if he did, he would be very glad to have Anderson with his forces.

"_General Williams, Eyeball Two. We have movement at the Relay_," the signal was slightly garbled, what with the distance being communicated.

"Understood," he answered. "Watch for as long as you can, then get out of there. We'll meet plenty of them yet."

"_Roger wilco, Eyeball Two headed home._"

Williams let out a savage grin. The turians were coming through the Relay themselves this time, and now he was ready.

* * *

Turian Dreadnought _Attalan_

Shanxi System

Admiral Octan stood on the CIC, arms crossed behind his back. The rogue forward elements had, inadvertently, revealed an unforeseen danger. Mines hadn't been used since the Krogan Rebellions, which put these _humans_ at a threat level unseen since, well, the krogan.

_"Sir, my lead frigates are reporting more mines. They're targeting and request permission to detonate."_

Octan managed to place the voice quickly: Captain Guilan of the 2nd Fleet scouting contingent.

"Granted, good work," he responded. Mines were a danger, but only if you were unaware of their presence. Once you knew they were there, they were no more than stationary targets.

The GUARDIAN batteries on the _Attalan_ boomed, shredding the mines from more than a safe distance. The heavy cruisers _Hesperan_, _Kenopher_, and _Menali_ followed suit with their armaments He was pleased no one attempted using their main cannon. Even if they hit their targets, a mine was too lightly constructed to slow a 20 kilogram shell an appreciable amount. That's why mines had lost favor over the centuries, they were far too easily destroyed.

_"Mines cleared, sir. We have a clear route."_

From there, it was an easy matter to calculate an FTL jump in-system. There was only one garden world available, and it was obviously the source of activity. It radiated signals like a pulsar.

The planet had several large stations in orbit over the colony … _good_. Hostage stations always made for easier negotiations. If it was necessary, altering the orbit of a station – accidentally of course – would usually prove an immediate incentive. While something of that nature was illegal in Citadel space, this location was well outside that region, and well within enemy territory. Turians knew how to deal with a hostile species.

"Excellent," Octan responded. "Well done everyone."

He checked the command projection, mentally calculating how many forces he'd need to subdue the populace. It was a small colony, less than a million inhabitants mostly centered below the orbiting stations. That was even better, he would control most of the population with a single fleet.

"Landing craft, prepare for deployment. 3rd division, have your cruisers disable the weapons on those stations. No sense letting them have any ideas."

The cruisers to starboard accelerated slowly, edging past the _Attalan_. As they came in range, they slowed, firing their main guns with high-precision.

Octan waited, watching the stations slowly turning. The rotation must have been a pseudo-gravity attempt. They must not have mastered mimicking gravity with element zero yet. That was another point against them, most species mastered pseudo gravity prior to reaching out to colonize other planets.

_"Suppression fire underway, repeating barrage."_

He squinted at the projection. Half a dozen cruisers had just fired their main guns at the four primitive space stations. The combined force of six heavy cruisers was enough to shatter a mountain, let alone the station of some backwoods race fresh to the galaxy ….

By squinting, he was able to make out the blue flashes as the second round of shells disintegrated against the stations shields. _Disintegrated? Their cruisers didn't have those kind of shields … unless _… "Sensors," he ordered, "get me a visual on those stations."

The projection enlarged one of the stations. It was much larger than he'd expected. Another cruiser similar to the ones he'd destroyed on the other side of the Relay hovered beneath it … and was dwarfed by its mass. _Spirits, that monster is twice as large as a dreadnought! It must have a power core four times the size of the cruisers!_

"All cruisers, direct disabling fire on the near station." He sent the command over the Fleet network, cutting through any other orders being given. "Three shots, make them count."

The station held its own against the shells, barriers flickering slightly at each hit. In an abstract fashion, Octan had to admire these humans. Whatever else they had done, they designed excellent stations. This one had just shrugged enough firepower to destroy one of the ancient krogan Dreadnought three times over!

"All ships, fire to effect," he ordered again. "I want that station disabled!"

This time the _Attalan_ and the _Langren_, the only true dreadnoughts currently with his fleet, added their considerable power to the attack.

This time, the shields rippled a cyan, the color spreading across the near-hemisphere of the station. _Have they covered the entire thing with shields? The power draw for that alone would drain their life support_ … "Keep firing. We'll have to wear down its reserves before we can destroy its guns."

"Sir … " one of his subordinates looked over, pupils dilated, "its main gun seems to be, ah, moving."

Octan checked. A massive gun, rather a pair of guns, were rotating on the station in his direction. _You could fit an escape pod down those monsters_…

"Stand by for evasive maneuvers," he barked. "They'll have to reduce shields to fire, watch for it."

But that moment never came. The twin barrels recoiled individually, each launching shells easily half-again the size of what the _Attalan_ could throw out.

"Evasive maneuvers!" he bellowed.

The _Attlan_ twisted under his feet, firing the ventral emergency thrusters in a desperate attempt to avoid the incoming fire. It was no good, though, the dreadnought had too much mass, and had started moving too late. The mass accelerated rounds struck its forward shields, causing multiple alarms to go off.

"Sir, forward shields down five percent, sir!" a crewman shouted.

The lights flickered, indicating another attack landing home.

"Correction, shields down nine percent, sir!" he heard the officer amend.

_By the Spirits, how did they_—

The ship shuddered as it slewed into an emergency turn, pouring extra power on the eezo core. The core responded by first increasing its mass, pivoting the rest of the vessel around itself, then as the power reversed its flow. The engines thrummed, reducing the mass of the entire ship, giving it the nimbleness of a cruiser, which enabled it to dodge the next attack.

"What is the status on that things shie—" Octans' next command was interrupted as an alarm started blaring, _What now?_

"Sir, that other station just opened fire on us! Barriers are down fifteen percent, sir." an officer reported. Octan remembered the officer, Lucan, he'd been in charge of a pirate raid in the Terminus systems a few months back. Lucan was a good man in a fight, he never lost his head.

"Get us out of range," Octan ordered, "pull anything as large as a cruiser and upwards back towards the Relay." He hated retreating, but the humans clearly had the advantage here. He couldn't amass enough firepower to bear on those shields without taking unacceptable losses. But he was not done yet, _Spirits_ no.

* * *

Shanxi

_"General, they're pulling back. No casualties. Do you want us to keep firing?"_

General Williams considered the option, but discarded it almost as soon as he started. "No, we don't have much accuracy at that distance. Save your ammunition captain, I have a feeling we'll need it later.

_"Understood, sir."_

The first exchange had gone well for humanity. Multiple batarian ships had been destroyed, and the vaunted turian fleet had been driven back. This second exchange had been fruitless for both sides, which he would count as a technical victory. From the codices recovered from the batarian and salarian vessels, the turian were as professional as it got. This particular exchange had proven it, and given him a grudging respect for his turian counterpart. Only an idiot would have remained stationary with no appreciable gain.

_Now, what will he do next?_ He wondered, then put himself in the opposing leaders' position. _If you can't take out the cover, maybe ramming a ship at FTL? No, too insane, he might hit the planet. Still, he knows we're pinned down here … but he doesn't know if we are building new ships, maybe? No, we don't have the mining capacity … but does he know that? He wants to deny us resources, stop mobility … got it._

Williams turned his chair back from the tactical display, "Get me Anderson on the line."

One of his orderlies queued the communication to the generals' personal screen. _Lieutenant Anderson here, what can I do for you?"_

"Lieutenant, we just gave the turians a bloody nose … if they have them … and I am expecting a ground assault soon. In a ten minutes, I will be sending out the order to begin _Operation Bastion_. However, I want you, the 5th Scouting platoon, and any mercenaries we have to start searching for early arrivals."

_"Understood, sir. If we find any turians groundside, what do you want us to do?"_

"You and the mercs know your capabilities. I'm giving you free rein, Lieutenant. The rest will observe and report. They are to attack only if they're discovered. I want to know where the turians land, how many of them get here, and where they're going. Understood?"

_"Sir, yes sir!"_ Young Anderson bared his teeth in anticipation, _"I'll show 'em what an N7 can do."_

"Do what you think best, Lieutenant. But stay as safe as you can, I don't want to have to explain why I am responsible for having the first combat-killed N7 operative."

_"Don't worry about that, General,"_ Williams found the other mans' eyes surprisingly mature for his age, although he should have expected it, considering his profession, _"there have already been a few of us lost in combat."_

That was … surprising. He hadn't heard of the N7's being involved in any combat. There was nothing to be said to that, so he just nodded, "Williams, out."

He sighed. In another lifetime, that young man could have been almost anything he wanted: a businessman, a farmer, anything. Instead, he was a soldier, aiming his entire purpose at death and destruction. The best humanity had to offer … and squandered on war.

* * *

Turian Transport _Mentaya_

The transport creaked as it pushed forward. That thrice-voided space station was throwing a lot of flak at the landing shuttles, but it wasn't able to get all of them …not by a long shot. General Arterius grimaced at the thought, if a human colony could fend off a patrol fleet, it certainly did not need the potential military capabilities his prize guaranteed.

"Once we hit dirt, I want us moving wod (1)! We have maps, and we have a location; nothing stops us from our target, am I understood?" he eyed his troops as they chorused agreement. They were good men, but a little idealistic. The turians needed to stay on top of the military arms race, hang the cost. The asari always managed to top any technological wonder the turians ever made, or even the salarians for that matter. This discovery, if he could secure it, would assure his race of combat supremacy.

That supremacy would happen. No matter what.

* * *

Shanxi

Lieutenant Anderson watched the turian ship approach. The vessel was angular, like all the images he'd reviewed from the quarians files. This one matched the profile for the transports. Their reported maximum carrying capacity was between two and three hundred soldiers, plus support. Variants for armor could land two dozen tanks of varying nature, or a few dozen light-assault vehicles. In any case, he had to call it in.

"Lieutenant Anderson here, one transport landing fifty klicks from the city proper." He froze, still as a stone, as another transport craft roared overhead. "Another transport, heading south, doesn't look like it's landing soon. Do we have eyes that way?"

"_We have eyes tracking, don't worry. Any specifics on your sighting?_" the controller asked.

Anderson squinted against the setting sun. The transport had a cloud of dust kicked up from its landing, but he could still make out figures marching from its depths. "It looks like infantry on this one … and there are more transports incoming."

_"Acknowledged, N7. Do what you can."_

'Roger that, Anderson out." The link cut out, allowing the N7 operative to mutter a choice series of adjectives describing the intellect of officers behind the line. He didn't mean it, but it was frustrating to be told "do it" with no guidance or support.

_Let's see, one NightStalker loadout, pistol, assault rifle, and a lot of tech mines … what can I do with those?_ he wondered. The turians appeared to be highly disciplined — the main body had begun fortifying a base camp, or at least enlarging the landing zone, while sentries covered the perimeter. Sensor clusters were on their way up, although Anderson was confident in his armors' camouflage.

_Wait … this is the buildup phase … they have to be on a timetable. If I can disrupt that schedule_ …. Anderson smiled a Cheshire (2) grin, and faded into the underbrush.

* * *

General Arterius

He heard an explosion, fairly distant by the sound of it. The soldiers under his command maintained their positions, although the tension increased. They were a fair distance from the original landing site, the better to confuse these _humans_. While the admiral may have allowed the batarians to join the attack, he was keeping his own forces of a single species. Batarians were strong, but undisciplined; a fatal flaw in their culture.

Another explosion went off behind them, this time sounding as if it had a heavier payload. _We landed far enough from their city, they couldn't have sent saboteurs so soon, could they? Better find out what's going on_.

He reached to the control tab on the side of his helmet, "Base camp, report!"

Static responded.

"Base camp, I gave an order. Report!"

The static turned to a whine, words jumbling through its tinny pitch. "… _blew off … sqrrrraaaarr-arrr-arrr-arr … comm station … disab… ckup soo_…" the signal cut out as another explosion detonated.

Arterius growled, subharmonically commanding his forces to move on. Only turians could completely understand how the enharmonic tones translated; it was heavily tonal-based, and resonated a complex arrangement of tissues behind the mandible.

The soldiers at his side were elites, far too well-trained to even consider disregarding his order. No turian would, really. He had been chosen as a general by the famous Primarch Asonikan, and had recommended many worthy promotions himself. His own brother had forged his own path; rumor had it that Saren was on the watch-list for Spectre candidacy. Such proofs only cemented his position; the more an individual was renowned for aiding his people, the more power the individual received.

Granted, there were exceptions. General Victus had arisen to his rank for actions defending the Hierarchy, but he had achieved those actions with reckless behavior. That was why Victus was in charge of the standard assault while he was tasked with a mission vital to Turian existence. He would not fail.

* * *

Anderson

Anderson silently rolled into cover. It was the work of a moment to attach another mine to the crate; he'd have to stop and manufacture more when he had a break. For now, he synced the mine to the others he'd planted, and prepared for the next step.

One of the turian sentries stalked past his cover, already on high alert from the explosions earlier. Andersons' NightStalker armor shifted colors, not matching the terrain but becoming darker, less noticeable on the scorched earth.

The N7 operative scuttled forwards, belly-crawling behind the turian. The turian suspected something, if the flickering head-movements were any indication. Unfortunately for him, he neglected to check the ground just behind himself. He paid for it. Anderson punched the back of one knee, catching the turian as he fell. One fore-arm chop and the alien was dead, courtesy of the hardened edge built into the NightStalker armor.

Anderson half-flipped, going from a crawl to a running in one move. Just behind him, he could hear the next sentry coming at the run, still too distant for a quiet takedown.

Multiple shots impacted to his left, he veered right into the trees, dodging into their welcoming shade. His armor lightened to a gray-green color; unless you were a cat in a coal bin, you didn't want to be _too_ dark. Black was obvious, while green blended.

The sentry didn't follow Anderson into cover, doubling back to check on the other downed turian. From the shouts, the Lieutenant didn't assume he would be safe.

Quickly, he flared the one aspect that made NightStalker armor restricted: element Zero nodes. Several were placed in the boots and gauntlets, granting him limited biotic capabilities. To his knowledge, only five pairs had been manufactured, each for an N7 operative. Each operative had been sworn to secrecy over its existence. Breaking silence over the element-zero armor set was tantamount to treason, punishable by execution.

The mass fluctuation lightened his weight, granting Anderson almost no tracks, and better leverage. He used the reduced weight to leap across the ground in huge bounds; he'd been trained and genetically augmented beyond what had been believed possible a mere ten years earlier.

More rounds punched through the brush well behind him, the invaders aim thrown off by his enhanced movement.

The HUD in his helmet hummed a low tone, prompting Anderson to hurl himself into cover. A second tone sounded a moment later, telling him a group of soldiers were within range of his mines. It wasn't as many as he'd hoped for, but the confusion would spread. The remote trigger blinked once under his command, then went out.

A fiery explosion blew past Anderson on either side of his tree, whipping the bushes into charred remains. Metal fragments sheared through the branches overhead, igniting some limbs and causing others to crack. Then, the air _roared_, shaking the ground. The tree behind him shuddered, groaning and swaying under the impact. His helmet automatically dampened the noise, but it was still deafening. Lesser explosions, popping and sputtering slowly made themselves heard as his hearing came back.

_Just what did I booby trap?_ Anderson wondered, he'd set up his mines in a diagonal pattern, to catch his pursuers in a crossfire. But none of his mines had the capacity to create so much carnage.

Carefully, he peaked around the tree. He could feel the heat from the burning wood through the carbon-fiber material on his elbows, _That's not right,_ he thought. _This stuff is supposed to take more than that …_

The answer was on the other side of his protection. The bottom ten feet of the tree burned furiously, acting as if it had been struck by lightning, or at the least, soaked in an accelerant. As he watched, several droplets fell from the trunk, burning as they fell. They hit the ground, smoking, still aflame despite their fall.

_Either I tagged a fuel crate … or the turians have flamethrowers, and I torched their ammo crate._

The filters on his visor kicked in, shifting to infrared, then magnifying the images. The entire near half of the turian FOB was burned out; the crates he'd been using were gone, only scorch marks and bits of metal remaining where they'd been.

_No … Anderson felt the lower part of his helmet on the underside of his jaw, This was an ammunition dump … or a supply depot …_ he'd never live this one down.

_"Lieutenant Anderson, do you copy?"_ he started at the sudden noise,_"Anderson, are you there?"_

"Anderson here," he sounded calmer than he felt, "What's the situation?"

_"We have had reports of explosions in grid seven-three-two. Can you verify?"_

Anderson looked back over the smoking remains. "Um … that was … ah me. The turians had a base of some type; emphasis on the past tense."

_"What the? How in— never mind, I don't want to know, probably classified. Do you need to resupply?"_

Anderson checked his omni-tool; it had busily started manufacturing more mines for him as soon as he'd stopped running. "No, I'm good. Do you have any hot spots for me?"

_"We have some mercs claiming they've captured a turian general about thirty miles north of your position. There's also a group of transports making for your current position right now, if you want to set up for another … ah … greeting?"_

"Negative," Anderson squinted at the sun, then started jogging north, "Tell the mercs I should be there inside an hour and a half."

_"Uh, on foot sir? I can redirect a flyer—"_

"Not needed, but thanks. I'll be there as quick as I can."

_"Yes, sir. Home base out."_

* * *

Wod: With Out Delay; turian phrase similar to As Soon As Possible

Cheshire Cat; a fictional character first written by Lewis Carroll in the book _Through the Looking Glass_ or _Alice in Wonderland_. The character, a cat, was able to appear and disappear by showing its teeth in a broad grin; typically a mischievous creature.

Codex Entry: NightStalker Armor

The NightStalker Armor is the result of Project _Ragnarök _, whoms existence is known to only five individuals outside of the project.

The NightStalker armor combines the element zero power capabilities of standard armor, similar to what the quarians use, with the unorthodox arming concepts in human combat tradition. Wasting enough element zero to create pseudo-biotics is anathema to the galaxy at large, not to mention prohibitively expensive. The NightStalker armor, while containing enough element zero to power an _Epimetheus_ mech, uses the majority of it to synthesize biotic abilities. The controlling structures for it are so delicate, that an operative must train for four months prior to actually wearing a complete set.

Although less durable than standard armors, the NightStalker is a favorite of the N7 program because of its versatility. The external layer contains a basic camouflage capability, matching the surface pigmentation to its surroundings, while the omni-tool system (a feature insisted upon by the quarian advisors) grants an unprecedented level of technical expertise. Mini-facture systems built into the armor produce basic grenades and mines, while coordinating a sophisticated material-gathering system. Operatives wearing the armor can take captured objects and break them down to a universal gelatin, which in turn can be used to create more objects.

The biotic capabilities of the NightStalker armor mean any human can gain the same abilities as a trained biotic. However, the natural biotic always seems to have an edge over the NightStalker wielder. The leading theory explaining this postulates that constant existence with the element zero grants natural biotics a much finer control.

Still, the NightStalker armors' combination of biotics, technology-based attacks, and powerful shields (an unexpected result of the element zero content) makes it a formidable threat.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about any confusion earlier. I tried my hand at another type of fanfic, and completely glossed over the fact that chess apparently is owned by no one. So that one is down, until I find an original fiction site where I can put it up again. Suggestions in that area would be welcome!**

**Now, this chapter was one of the most difficult chapters for me to write. It is my belief that while the turians are scary-good at warfare, so are humans. Shanxi gave the humans the home-team advantage, and the only reason I conclude that canon turians won, was because they had the height advantage. Therefore, if I remove that single advantage, their victory also goes away.**

**That being said, I don't think the turians are weak little bullies that are riding on a reputation. Turians are warriors with a galactic soldiering tradition thousands of years older than Earth's space program. Which made this doggone hard to write.**

**I would like to thank Nightstride for his beta assistance; every paragraph without a typo is the result of his interference. Thanks man!**

**I'd also like to give a shoutout to Jamezy, of Mass Anomalies fame. He has gathered the collective efforts of multiple Self-Inserts, and created a novel story that I have enjoyed very much. Check it out if you have time!**

**Last, but not least, thank you for voting in my poll. Please vote for Kaidan, Ashley, or option 3 if you'd like to influence my decision in ME1.**

**Excelsior!**


	14. Chapter 14: Shanxi part III

**A/N: Don't like putting A/N's at the beginning, but I would like to request you to vote in the Kaiden/Ashley poll on my profile, or send ideas for Virmire (or to do something completely different). As always, thanks! To the story!**

* * *

Shanxi

General Arterius

The turian Hierarchy had rules for every conceivable situation. Since it had been a longstanding rule for all turians to serve in the military for a brief stint, the majority of regulations pertaining to warfare had been examined carefully over the course of fifteen hundred years. Exceptions to the rules and special cases were occasionally discovered, but in general, a precedent of _some_ type was located and used.

Other races, like the salarians or asari, simply did not understand the amount of dedication a turian brought to his position. When a turian achieved a post, he knew it was because he'd been chosen for it in light of his efforts. While an imperfect system, it worked well with a race that was nearly incapable of lying; achieving a position by deception was tantamount to treason.

The turian homeworld, Palaven, was fairly warm by most standards. Its complex series of mountain ranges and continent-sized valleys encouraged the development of tactical thinking even amongst those whom were pacifists, a somewhat uncommon trait. Trade routes through the mountains, and later, the stars were charted by the minds of individuals whom had to look out for ambushes, rival traders, and rockslides. Nature was an unstoppable foe, and that gave them a deep respect for accepting what could not be controlled. The _Mist of Battle_ (1) was taught to their youngest, teaching them that vague uncertainty was inevitable, and that it could be defeated with rigorous planning and training.

Remembering the history of his people made General Arterius furious, at least at the moment. The fact that a race so new to the galaxy had captured him so easily was … well… infuriating.

"You cannot win against the Hierarchy!" he had long given up talking sense. Increasing his volume didn't seem to be working either, the female became angrier while the leader just … watched. "When my people learn of this, they will send an entire fleet to destroy you!"

The leader of his captors, whom had introduced himself as _Harper_, was wearing – or was he driving? — a truly impressive suit of armor. His male companion, _Hislop_, was in a larger … _armor_ … that looked as if it could tear the engines from a shuttle. What had been most galling, however, was how the unarmored female had taken advantage of his surprise. _Generals are supposed to be taken with honor, not overly much ceremony, but certainly more than just smashing them over the head! _ By the time Arterius had regained his senses, the massive warrior-armor had pinned his waist to the ground with one hand. Things had gone downhill from there.

"No offense, but I would have expected a general to have better security than a few lightly armed commandos." Harper leaned back, setting the _Meneleus_ armor to sentinel mode. The faceplate slid back, folding into the pauldrons where they met the backplate.

"Maybe he's just posing as a general?" Hislop suggested. He did something inside his armor, and picked up the turian, pinning his arms to his sides, "He's wearing a lot more bric-a-brac than the other turians we've nabbed."

"You have taken to kidnapping turians?" Arterius could believe it. The little bits of information his people had been able to pull from the enemy stations had been … primitive … to say the least. Everything related to their command structure had indicated, _Call it what it is, a backwards system of entitlement. How can they permit giving the most financially astute the greatest positions, no matter what their expertise?_

The human female glared at him, finally finding the restraints in her pack. "The least you can say is 'thank you for not killing me,'" she hissed, "I had friends out in the Shanxi fleet."

"You call that a fleet?" the thought made Arterius laugh. "Your species is more primitive than I'd thought! That fleet was barely one tenth the size of a turian patrol, how do you think you can stand against my people?"

Harper laid a calming hand on the female's shoulder "Calm down, Eva. Baiting the prisoner will not help matters." The effect was somewhat ruined by the heavy alloy composing his gauntlet, but served its purpose. Eva exhaled through her nose loudly, then yanked the turian generals' arms behind his back. The larger human kept a gun trained on the general, forcing him to refrain from sudden moves. To his disgust, he was trussed with a pair of binders in seconds, freeing _Hislop_ to watch the perimeter.

"Now, what exactly have you been doing over here, General?" Harper asked. He peered behind the turian leader, frowning at the well-hidden opening to a cavern; rocks had been shoved away from the entrance, brutally heaved with little regard to the surroundings. For some reason, a cold feeling ran down Arterius's spine, chilling even through his armor. That bothered him. It _had_ to be due to the humans present.

"This is beyond you, _Human_. Release me, or take me to your superiors if you must, but quit your ceaseless whining!" It could be said that Arterius was not a diplomatic individual. It could also be said that space was cold, but the obvious seldom needed to be explained.

"I think …" Harper glared disapprovingly at the turian, "I will have a look in your cave. _On a Human planet_, I should add. Then we can go discuss your surrender with my superiors."

* * *

General Williams

Some believed war was like chess, others believed it was like a fluid exercise of platitudes. The truth was that war was unlike any _game_, yet like all of them. Terrain could be counted upon to change movement speed, while unit-types could control their surroundings with different levels of efficiency. Multiple units were particularly weak to various attacks. Gauging vulnerability increased in difficulty when one was uncertain what weapons his opponent actually carried.

He could bluff, call his opponents bluff, feign activity where there was none and show no activity where much was being done. Williams silently gave thanks for his younger days reading Sun Tzu … the foundations of war didn't change much, even across species.

He was fighting this war with the same care and attention normally attributed to _bonsai_ artists. If he revealed the heavy-armor capabilities, something the quarians had assured the Citadel species didn't have, they wouldn't be a surprise later. However, if he never used them, he would lose far more than territory.

_Still, so far, so good_. The turians hadn't been able to achieve complete dominance above Shanxi, but they _had_ managed to land a great deal of infantry. The _Olympus_ battle stations overhead had little-to-no anti-fighter capability, although they did carry some attack craft. Unfortunately, since the colony had been in the less-traveled regions of Alliance Space, there had been very few fighter pilots assigned.

The turians didn't bother keeping a low-profile outside the main city; they almost _advertised_ their presence. They had built themselves large bases, performing like an elite human military, but hadn't bothered with camouflage, or even electronic countermeasures. _Unless, they do have countermeasures, and we can't detect them?_

The scouts had informed General Williams about the sites, but several forward teams had been lost when the aliens realized what was occurring. He had wasted two squads, trying to retrieve a pair of scouts before pulling back. He could only pray the turians practiced civilized treatment of prisoners.

For his own part, he'd managed to repel the turians every time they'd attempted attacking the city proper. The turians had local aerial superiority, but the important structures were still standing thanks to the emergency shield-generators. Unfortunately, however, the colony had lost nearly 50% of the unshielded buildings, including most of the main food-storage structures. The original plans for the colony had included shielded warehouses, but the lack of an alien presence near Shanxi had resulted in construction cutbacks. Element Zero was expensive, after all. There was food stored in the underground bunkers, but supplies were beginning to get low.

_This is a siege,_ Williams thought. A_ genuine, medieval-style siege. And here we were so proud of having risen beyond that long ago. The more things change, the more they stay the same indeed._

When he came down to siege warfare, Williams knew that humans had practically written the manual. Humanities' space fleets had lacked practical experience, but for land battles … humans had been doing that to each other for _millennia_.

"Sir, we are receiving another call for surrender," an aide informed.

"Ignore it," he ordered briskly, "if they hold to their pattern, the turians will resume blocking our frequencies within a few minutes. Then we can get back to work."

It was astonishing, to an experienced soldier, at how naïve the turians were acting. Technically speaking, the turians held a limited amount of high ground over the contested area, they weren't using their artillery to any effect, and the only thing they wanted to talk about was how the humans would surrender. While the turians seemed to have a well-planned assault, they were ignoring simple things like the landlines his people had carefully laid out in the first week of the siege. One good strike force could sever communications for the entire colony … but the turians still held back.

Well, Williams had played his game prudently. _The Powers That Be_ had given him a month, and he was almost ready for the counter-assault. Provided, of course, that there would be enough backup to deal with the turian fleet.

"Sir, the frequencies are being jammed again," the aide spoke up. "Should we resume normal communications? I … I … mean," he stammered, "Should we resume the cable communication?"

Williams nodded absently, focusing on his maps. The N7 Lieutenant had been incredibly effective; he'd destroyed three separate strongholds on his own, one with nothing more than a belt of grenades! If he'd had another dozen like him, the ground war possibly could have been won without outside aid.

"Sir! Incoming orbital shot from sector five!"

Williams glanced at the data feed. A holographic representation of the city flared a small circle some fifty kilometers above. No warning, however, was going off; no blaring siren or flashing light. He sighed, "Get the programmers back on the VI, we need the alert system functioning, yes?"

The aide saluted, "Yes sir, anything else?"

"No, send out the usual warnings." Williams turned back to his studying.

"There's more coming!"

He turned back, "What?"

The aide pointed at the display, "There's another three orbital strikes coming down, spread out!"

Williams looked for himself. There were indeed four chunks of debris coming down. The turians had taken over the hemisphere opposite of the _Olympus_ stations, including the debris field created by the brief fight his limited mobile navy. They had taken to dropping the debris of wrecked ships into decaying orbits, effectively launching a bombardment from the other side of the planet. The only purpose Williams could see was a turian penchant against buildings, and a complete disregard for civilian safety.

Before, there had been only a few pieces falling, no more than three at a time. Now there were more. Half a dozen chunks of wreckage … a dozen. Two dozen. Three.

The aide scuttled back to his post; he'd seen the look on Williams' face. The turians had struck first.

Williams growled angrily at the screen and flung himself back into his chair. He'd lost the element of surprise, lost it to the _turians_.

"Attention, attention, all Alliance forces." He cleared his throat, "The turians appear to be making a full-attack. Repeat, _a full attack_. All civilians are to go directly to the bunkers. All soldiers, report to battle stations. It looks like we will be having an orbital bombardment within five minutes, _so get under cover, NOW!"_

He flipped frequencies quickly, "Anderson, you copy?"

The radio squealed static for a second, then resolved into the lieutenant's voice. _"You're a bit unclear, but I hear you. What is it?"_

Williams ignored the Lieutenants' terse language. "The turians are starting a big push, probably marching out soon. Do you have any information?"

_"I've been keeping tabs on the turians in sectors three, four and five, General. Three and four are loading up, but sector five isn't doing much at all. I should warn you, the base in five looks like a heavy equipment base, vehicles and the like."_

Williams started sending orders over his display, "Thank you Anderson. Stay where you are, if you can. I'm guessing Tommy Turian is going to be sending out the big guns soon; take them down if you can."

The voice sounded amused, _"I'll do my best, sir."_

"See me after the fight. I owe you a drink."

"_I'll hold you to that, sir."_

* * *

Anderson

_These turians don't mess around, do they?_ Anderson thought, _Less than two hours and they have the whole force half-way there._

His focus drifted to the improvised explosives he'd scattered around the road. They weren't doing much good, whenever the turians suspected anything of remotely bringing harm, they would concentrate fire at it. When bullets were almost free, it didn't matter how many were used. Even the vehicles didn't hesitate using their heavier weaponry to blast anything suspicious.

Explosions blew apart pieces of the road, which also didn't matter. The heavy vehicles didn't notice the pits, and the infantry went around them … or jumped in and climbed out.

The soldiers themselves were _uncanny_, somehow they watched _everything_ at once. Scouts moved through the underbrush like they'd been born there, heavy infantry spread out, making themselves difficult to take out in single blasts.

Anderson counted the number of vehicles, measuring their distances. With one hand, he entered their positions to the quarian-made omni-tool he had, letting the tool encrypt the data automatically. Most humans still weren't used to omni-tools, but he had to admit the devices definitely gave an advantage.

He only hesitated for a moment, then sent the data packet. A simple voice transmission didn't make as much of a disturbance, but data rich burst was much more noticeable, should any turian be monitoring the obscure amateur radio bandwidths. He received two glowing lights in return, then dove for cover.

The turians noticed movement, abruptly freezing in place to better spot him. The infantry scattered while the heavy vehicles angled away from each other, in case their suddenly-spotted target was carrying heavy weapons.

Anderson elbow-crawled backwards, deeper into the underbrush. Shots started sprinkling the bushes over hi—

An almighty explosion rocked the world, flinging him upwards in an undisciplined flop. No amount of training could prepare him for _that_. Nothing withstood the force of heavy artillery mechs, save a mountain, perhaps. Even then, it was only a question of time before the mountain wore down. Anderson grabbed a handhold, twisting his hands and feet increasing their mass to the maximum. His extremities slammed to the ground, anchoring him just as another explosion punched through a turian heavy-vehicle. Those _Epimetheus_ mechs packed a _punch_.

The thundering faded, leaving the hissing of heated metal. Someone groaned … no that was overstressed metal. The artillery mechs were good, but not _that_ good.

Anderson released the mass-effect fields. They blinked out of existence, leaving warped spheres in the ground, deep enough to bury a man's' hand. He sneaked a peak, flipping to infrared and back. Foot soldiers were scrambling away from the remains of the turian assault vehicles and pushing onwards.

That was tiring; they'd stopped the heavy units, but not the advance itself. He raised one the comm in the side of his helmet. "Lieutenant Anderson to base, repeat thirty meters east, repeat thirty meters east."

No voice responded, but he could feel the distant tremors. _Epimetheus_ mechs could launch ballistic shells over forty miles, and that was just the chemical-fueled rounds.

He dove for cover before the next barrage hit.

* * *

Williams

The markers advanced on the thin blue line encircling the city. Tiny red dots sped around the outskirts, avoiding the anti-aircraft emplacements, but preventing the defenders from mounting a proper greeting.

Williams grimaced. The enemy was less than fifteen kilometers from the city. If he didn't do _something_, they would be through his walls in no time. The turians didn't have much mercy, either. The settlements outside the main city had been … processed. Civilians had been ordered to leave their homes, swear loyalty to the turian Hierarchy, and live in settlement camps. Anyone who resisted was executed.

_Barbaric_, he glared at the red dots, loathing their very presence. The fast-moving dots circled his emplacements again, searching for the artillery responsible for their ruined vehicles. They wouldn't find them, the _Epimetheus_ mechs were under cover again.

The turians were still approaching, though. _Should I try staving them off one more time…?_ _No_. _I held out as long as I could, _he thought,_ we have to throw everything we've got at them. Now._

It was a pity, but there was nothing else to do. He couldn't wait for the Alliance to show up. There wouldn't be a Shanxi to save. Revealing the full extent of the Alliance military would be a gamble; his scouts had been able to determine that the turians had landed over 50,000 troops. He had less than 60,000 of his own, not counting the crews of the hovering battle stations.

_If I am honest with myself, the first encounters we had were … enlightening_. Small squads of soldiers had played cat-and-mouse outside the city. The turians adapted quickly to human tactics, returning crushing responses. Humans still had a creative advantage, but creativity was running low as the war prolonged. Still, the turians seemed to lack a certain flair for … creativity– once a particular response had been noted, it was repeated, not without variation, but in a mathematically predictable permutations. While the number of permutations were enormous, they were still predictable, and predictability made one dead.

_Turians are disciplined, obedient, and incredibly brave. Give them an order, and they'll follow it to the ends of the earth … Palaven … whatever_. Williams turned the idea over, slowly rubbing its surfaces, checking for weakness. Considering their host of advantages, it was a mercy turians had those weaknesses. He would take advantage of that.

He took a moment to imprint the moment to his memory. He was the first Alliance general in history to engage in a full-scale war with an alien species on the ground. Well, the batarians had fought the colonies, but that wasn't an actual _battle_, more of a series of skirmishes. The other colonists might disagree, but _his_ colony had held off a professional military force for twenty-nine days, longer than any of the colonies had done.

Satisfied, he keyed the channel for public address.

"Attention all Allied forces, attention. This is General Williams, head of Alliance forces on Shanxi: prepare for operation _Rolling Thunder_, repeat, _Rolling Thunder_. Execution is set for one hour from this point." He took a breath, "It has been my pleasure to lead you in this fight. It has been an honor to see people with such heart. Now let's go show them theirs."

The die was cast. The Alliance would either show up within twenty-four hours, or it would not. He would do all he could to save his people.

* * *

Anderson

"_It has been my pleasure to lead you in this fight. It has been an honor to see people with such heart. Now let's go show them theirs."_

Anderson nodded to himself. He was too far from the city proper to join in the beginning, but he'd do what he could where he was.

A crunching of leaves warned him just a little late that he was not alone. _I knew I should have stopped at that underbrush a few meters back. Walls may be stronger, but they only conceal from one direction._

Chirring snaps barked out behind his head, and he could _sense_ something dangerous pointed at him. _Not amateurs then_, he thought. No trained soldier would get close enough to allow a prisoner to actually _feel_ a weapon. If he could feel it, he knew where its wielder was. That permitted something … hasty, like a kick or twist around the gun. Staying out of physical contact increased the safety margin.

The HUD hummed lightly, showing him a reverse view. Three turians in dark armor stood behind him, just far enough apart to avoid getting in each other's way, but close enough to lend support. _Professionals indeed_.

He played a psychological move, turning his head, fixing the glowing visor on their position. He made it threatening, moving only his head, keeping the rest of his body still, like an ancient predator.

They clack-hissed at him again, the lead gesturing with an extended muzzle. The universal language of harm translated easily enough: _Obey or die_.

Anderson directed the NightStalker armor to calculate the best trajectory, checking the numbers in his head. He'd avoided notice thus far … at least, he'd killed anyone who'd seen him before they'd reported him … so the turians wouldn't know the capabilities of a NightStalker set. It was known as NiSe for a reason.

The third turian moved forwards, stubby-weapon ready. Anderson waited. Unmoving prey was docile prey, although being _too_ still could be interpreted as an ambush. The turians had already recognized him as a threat, so he made _small_ motions, frustrated movements, until he felt talons grasp his pauldron.

The suit capacitors fired a quick burst through his right gauntlet, increasing the mass of his fist a hundredfold. The turian flew backwards squawking, chestplate dented.

The other two split up, opening fire. Shots deflected off his quarian-made shields, sending a warning to Andersons HUD. He managed to shake their fire by reducing his mass and leaping forwards, behind a nearby tree … it looked like a birch. He could hear them pounding towards him, and saw a flat disc whir next to the tree.

Instinctively, he went up, the eezo fields boosting his leap by a good twenty feet. The explosion was less than he'd expected, though … until his HUD started sparking. _Blast, EMP_.

He clung to a branch with both arms, feeling his weight pulling at his tendons. NightStalker armor was lighter than most, but it was still hefty.

Below, the turians burst around the tree trunk, pre-firing on opposite tangents. He couldn't see them, but he did hear an alarmed clicking, untranslatable by his VI. The alien translation software was still buggy, despite the quarians best efforts. Meshing the more efficient quarian software with the power-hungry human software was proving a bit of a problem. What with being on a critical assignment, he hadn't installed anything that could compromise his performance when he'd checked out his suit. _That may prove to be a mistake … R&D still hasn't given me anything EMP hardened_.

Still, he managed to reboot the sections pertinent to the eezo systems, and set up a hard-restart for the rest.

The turians were still scanning the ground, looking for cover he could have used. _If they can keep that up for just another thirty seconds_ … Then the turian with the dented armor click-whistled something loudly. Time froze, letting him _feel_ the diamond hard gaze of his foes lock upwards; the sensation was not unlike a rabbit detecting an oncoming eagle. His London upbringing came through the N7 training for a moment: _bloody hell_.

Both aimed upwards and fired in an eye-blink. As the shields were still off-line, rounds pinged off his armor, sounding like a bad percussionist on a red sand trip.

Desperately, Anderson let go, shunting a positive charge into his boots. The gauntlets stuttered, resisting the command, then shorted out in the opposite polarity.

The end result had him dropping like a lead weight. The HUD screamed, alternating red and bright yellow, blinding him. He could feel rounds skip against his armor, then a brief pause as more were deflected by the intermittent shields, just to return to slamming into his ablative surface again.

Time slowed further than his adrenaline mods could handle. The armor felt overheated, trying to reboot and activate the safeties all at once. It was almost … weightless … like in zero g. The shield in front of his faceplate flickered weakly and vanished. Tiny pinpricks stung his flanks –

Then blue light washed over his visor; he felt _heavy_. Agony was registering somewhere around his shins, but it was a dim, far away pain. His arms dropped weakly … the blazing corona on his fists made contact with the blue field emanating from his feet.

The contact erupted in a blast of cyan energy. Shadow images seven feet tall flew away, spinning off beyond his sight. The helmet rang, reverberating against his skull until he managed to pry it off. Even separated from his skull, it continued vibrating, one of its systems obviously going berserk. _What idiot would give a helmet a vibration function–?_

Once again, shots interrupted him. He ducked back, falling over as his legs gave out.

The third turian, pistol in one hand, glowing blue field on the other, advanced on his position. He … or she … looked angry. It chitter-clacked, pointing the pistol off to one side and back at Anderson. It pointed again at something on the ground, now clack-screaming at him. _This must be his first fight, never pause in the middle of a fight. If he wants to play it that way however ...__  
_

Anderson turned on one side, painfully getting a glimpse. There was a crushed black armor piece in that direction … it looked important. As in, life-support important. _Wait … that's not_ external _armor, that's …._

The angry turian dropped his pistol, grabbing Anderson by the front of his armor, easily lifting him one-handed. The other hand drew back, glowing iridescent white. The language was foreign, but the anger, the fury was easy to understand. The turian sneered something, rasping an impossibly consonant heavy trill. Anderson slipped his knife free of its shoulder sheathe, shoving just as the turians body flashed blue – and fell.

Anderson landed on his back again. The pain in his leg made him scream, despite his training. Shunting away the excruciating pain, he wrenched his eyes open, looking for his opponent.

The turian lay on the ground ahead of him … his knife buried to the hilt. Painfully, Anderson crawled closer, avoiding using the injured leg. No breath, no pulse _do these birds even have a pulse? _So far as he could tell, the turian was dead. _Must have been a turian biotic, what do you call them, Cabals?_ He looked at the other bodies, they had similar armor. _Scratch that, this must have been an assault squad. Where was their backup?_

He shook himself and hobbled over to the armor pieces he'd seen earlier. _Not _armor_, they're actually covered in a hardened carapace …. _ The pieces were scattered, as if an explosion of mammoth proportions had gone off under their feet, but there hadn't been any explosion … just a glitch with his … armor ….

An unfamiliar twinge ran up his spine … fear. _What did I do to them?_

* * *

Williams

The general waited, watching his forces marshal themselves. It was a problem with modern technology, the temptation to micromanage _everything_ was powerful. From where he sat, he could see markers delineating each and every unit on Shanxi, and a few above it.

The turians, what the drones and satellites could spot, were approaching from one direction. Their approach from the opposite side had been meager, and easily disrupted by the mercenaries … Harper especially. Apparently, there had been an explosion of sorts, and one of Harpers' men had died. Harper himself had taken a prisoner back to Williams, one _General Arterius_.

"Doctor, I need an opinion." He turned to the only qualified mind he could ask.

Across the room, Doctor Pavmeyer came to attention. "Yes, sir?"

Williams waved his hand irritably, "Don't you _'sir'_ me, doctor. You have clearance levels higher than I can count."

Pavmeyer adjusted his glasses, "Ah, very well, _General_. What can I do for you?

"You have spent some time examining the turian general, yes?" Williams waited for the doctors' nod, "What can you tell me?"

Eagerly, the doctor summoned a holographic representation of the subject in question. "Well, General Arterius appears to be highly placed in his peoples' military, and has a very high opinion of himself. His knowledge of interrogation techniques has made him fairly resistant to my usual methods, so I consulted a colleague in the Intelligence division, Mister Armistan Banes."

Williams stroked his chin, thinking. "I've heard of that man, he was a political analyst, yes?"

"Partially," the doctor replied, changing the images to unknown biometric readings. "I don't bother with searching personalities, I simply want results. Mister Banes is highly capable at manipulating people, and that's why I asked him for advice." The doctors eyes sparkled, "Banes suggested I ask about life on Palaven … that's the turian homeworld … and see what I could get from that."

"That has almost nothing to do with what we need, however." Williams checked his display. _No, not yet time_. "Can we hurry this along? We are on a deadline."

"Of course, of course," Doctor Pavmeyer highlighted a bio-reading, "I found a strong correlation between General Arterius' desire to defend his people with his current assignment. That was only to be expected, after all." He rolled his eyes, "But … I also found similar readings between questions about his presence on Shanxi _and the Hierarchy weapons program_!" Pavmeyer punched a finger through the hologram, "Right there! His blood pressure spikes in exactly the same fashion _here_ and _here_! On its own, it's not much, but when linked with eye-twitch measurements and lung-capacity analysis, it is the closest thing to proof you will get without a search warrant!"

Williams considered the information. It was interesting … but not very relevant. "Doctor, I'm sure this is fascinating, but what does it have to do with turians on my doorstep?"

Pavmeyer jumped on the question, "Don't you see? Arterius was here on a classified mission! He wasn't here _testing_ weapons, he was here to _get_ weapons! He went far out of his way to avoid interest, and had few people with him." He gave Williams a frank look, "If he had not been here undercover, I would never have been able to determine his 'tells.' Once I knew how to gauge his truth-tells, I ran a few other questions, about troop numbers and placements."

Williams grew intent. _Finally! Something I can use!_ "Get to the _point_, doctor."

"I just received the analysis," Pavmeyer held up a thick disc, "I can synopsize but have the entire summary ready."

Willaims snatched the disc, feeding it into his own terminal. "Why didn't you give this to me in the first place?" he started scanning the screens. "Over eighty thousand troops? A thousand Cabal units?"

"It is indeed a formidable force. By the way, General, I was wondering if I could retain the services of Mister Harper for –?" Pavmeyer started to ask,

"Granted, permitted, whatever. I have a war to fight!" Williams focused on his map, making adjustments. The new information made changes necessary, but there would be enough time. Barely.

* * *

One Hour Later

Admiral Octan

Small purple lights showed the turian forward company breaching the final redoubt, pushing further into the human defenses. The humans had put up an excellent fight, but turian discipline had made steady progress. As additional good news, the human artillery emplacements hadn't fired since the barrage that had eliminated the 2nd Heavy division. Their emplacements on the walls must have been crushed by orbital debris.

_That was … brutal_. Regret wormed its way to the front of Octan's thoughts. He hadn't liked doing that. Orbital bombardment was against Citadel Conventions outside of an officially sanctioned war, but he _had_ to use discretion. Military actions permitted the highest-ranking officer freedoms the underlings weren't permitted. In this case, it had been necessary. Once the ground was pacified, the stations would be starved into submission.

An unfortunate bit of news had informed him that General Arterius had been captured. His signal had gone out just as its location was registered inside the city limits … alone. The humans would pay for taking one of his own.

"Do we have eyes down there?" he asked a lieutenant.

"Uh, sir, we have several drones down there, sir."

"Get me a visual."

The lieutenant complied. The admiral soon had a full view of the front line, low from behind the lines. It was a sight to make him proud.

Turian soldiers, lined up in ranks of twelve, paraded into the human streets. The buildings were pulverized wrecks, powdered by the falling corpses of their own creations. No humans stood to challenge them, a fact both worrying and satisfying. The humans had shown themselves worthy opponents, cunning and brave. They had adapted to turian tactics, and had shown variations of their own. He had lost millions of credits worth of hardware just by their guerrilla actions, something that hadn't happened since the Vorcha War. Granted, the vorcha strategies had been solely instinct based. The humans had waged a _much_ more dangerous campaign, calculated to maximize damage with minimal effort.

More than that, the humans had tricked his fleet into chasing them through the Relay, and blown apart over half the batarian fleet that had accompanied them. Not a single human vessel had been lost in that exchange. What batarian vessels that were left had been assigned guardian posts … far from the humans. Batarians had a poor record for self-control, especially when they were feeling entitled. At least he didn't need to think up another threat for them.

These humans would possibly make a worthy client race, perhaps as useful as the Volus had proven themselves. _Only time will tell_, he thought darkly. _Perhaps they are just a slightly less primitive than the yahg. Too late for the salarians to ground this species unfortunately_ .… That was a frightening option.

There was an odd occurrence, though. The ground beyond the turian infantry had a strange shaking appearance to it, dust rising above the rubble.

Curious, Octan requested the drones' handler to increase altitude. As it rose, he could see further into the city. Small dots swarmed out of holes in the ground, larger dots moved before and behind the smaller dots, chaotic in nature.

Then, a wind cleared the dust slightly, affording a clearer view of the foreground.

_Spirits!_ Was all he could think.

* * *

_Mist of War_: the concept that knowing what was occurring everywhere on the battlefield was impossible. Information travels slowly, requiring the generals to take the information they know, guess or deduce the information they do not know, and make decisions hoping for the best.

**A/N: Well, here it is, my second attempt at ground combat. In case you haven't figured out, I am learning a lot about writing different environments from this Prequal, and hope to apply them to when I'm writing the Mass Effect 1 proper. The only difference I am going to make is having a bit tighter timeline, much less jumping around if possible. Here, I am covering over 40 years in less than that many chapters; the highlights if you will, of an Alternate Universe.**

**Speaking of which, I thought I'd explain the significant differences between my AU and Canon, at least to my mind. First off, the obvious timeline: Humans discovered the Prothean Ruins right after settling Mars. That was my one big change, and I hope it's worked. Next, the technology; humans will not have a huge advantage over the rest of the galaxy, but they will have some different gifts. FTL is the same (just on steroids in some cases), but it is balanced out by having rickety engines for the super-long FTL jumps. The Power Armor is also a little something I added earlier; if Cerberus can come up with an Atlas mech in the 1 year duration between ME2 and ME3, I see no reason why the Alliance couldn't develop the concept with a 30+ year head start.**

**Finally, I would like to thank my beta NightStride (for whom I have named the NightStalker armor), and has stuck with me for over 20 some chapters now. Yes, I try to work ahead, who knows what could happen?**

**I would also like to thank Dracco for his creative approach to ME1 (will be using some ideas of his I can assure you!), MizDirected (for her sometimes painfully accurate assessments), Gyre (faithful follower!), Lachdannen (he has one incredible SI, read it!), and CN7 (great author, good reviewer!). Thanks to Zezia333 (excellent logic), and kira kyuu (good idea exchanges).**

**If anyone has been left out, I apologize, and claim the blame for that entirely. I am inspired and humbled by the responses you guys have given me, and will strive to do my best work for y'all.**

**Excelsior!**


	15. Chapter 15: Shanxi part IV

**A/N: I just wanted to thank everyone whom participated in the poll. I highly appreciate everyone who took the time to leave a vote, or a Review/PM. You guys rock!**

* * *

Shanxi

Turian Dreadnought _Attalan_

Octan wasn't in the front lines, though he dearly wished to be there. Duty required him to be further back, organizing the ranks.

Still, he was able to see through the eyes of mechanical assistants, or at least, turian armor cameras.

The view was impressive. The humans, along with whatever else they were, knew how to put on a show.

A line of giant machines stomped out of the dust cloud. They were half-again as tall as an average turian, and heavily built along a bipedal design, two arms, two legs. If he was any judge, the mechanical monsters were wearing armor on par with a _Kalar_ (1) assault vehicle. It was equally likely they would be carrying weapons far heavier than any infantryman could hold.

He could see smaller forms moving between the massive figures. By the size, he deduced the lesser figures were humans. They had a strange uniformity in their movements, yet he could detect no single pattern that was actually being repeated. Further back in, he could see smaller machines, larger than the humans, but smaller than the bizarre things stalking forwards.

_These humans do not use ground vehicles, that's a bizarre twist. Even the krogan created Tomkahs. They obviously have known how to use wheels, if the Intelligence reports are correct, but why are they making bipedal robots?_

"Tell the ground troops to open fire," he ordered. _What is General Ikandimus thinking?_

* * *

Scout post _Theta_

Anderson bound his ankle as best he could. Medi-Gel had reduced the swelling, and indeed fixed most of the strained tendons, but he still needed to keep the boot tight.

The turian army had been marching for the past two hours. He'd heard them, almost _felt_ them when he rolled from underneath a tank. He may have had a bad foot, but that hadn't stopped him from placing small presents on as many vehicles as possible. It wouldn't hurt the vehicles too much, but it _would_ cause damage to any nearby soldiers … and who knew? It _could_ hurt the tank somehow.

He'd shed the NightStalker armor once it was apparent he couldn't get it working again. The scout post had an arms locker he'd altered somewhat, setting up enough explosives to destroy both the armor and whoever opened the locker. Now, he had an Infiltrators' set, not a Power Armor of course, but good enough for getting him back to safety.

An explosion shook the ground. _Well, maybe not complete safety_.

Anderson limped out of the post and headed towards the noise. Whenever there was an explosion, there was a cause. While not a sniper, an Infiltrator was usually an asset in time of great strife. _Actually, an Infiltrator is an asset at pretty much any time, in in my humble opinion_.

The city proper was less than half a mile from the post, so he was able to get to a decent position within minutes. Setting up was a simple matter. Ever since the tactical HUD came up, the requirement for snipers to have a spotter had been relaxed. It was still recommended, but it was no longer an absolute requirement.

Through his scope, Anderson could see the city rubble, and more than a few destroyed vehicles. The turians were employing a six-wheeled attack vehicle with a blocky construct on top. He carefully tagged the stationary vehicle with his HUD, forwarding it to home base. A non-moving vehicle was a sitting duck for artillery.

The other turian attack vehicle was hovering on some sort of duct-fan arrangement, and apparently wielded multiple heavy machine gun emplacements. It was fast, maneuverable, and could take a lot of damage with its shields.

Anderson could see several turians crouching behind a fallen wall, firing at something out of his sight. There were two within easy range, so he carefully lined up his shots. His first burst smashed through the back of the turians' helmet, the quarian-designed phasic rounds easily penetrating shields. His second burst followed the first, cutting down another target with little difficulty. By reflex, Anderson managed to snap off a third burst just as the heat-sink overloaded.

He was forced to duck behind cover at that, not sure if his third attempt had been good. The rifle's heat gauge was falling slowly, _eh, better change cover._

As he moved through cover, he could hear the hissing rush that heralded an Alliance light-assault trooper. Cautiously, he looked from behind an overturned ground car, and saw the trooper make a running leap into the air. Turian fire sparked off the jet-wearing soldier, but he was able to reach cover in the second story of a half-destroyed building, disappearing over the side. Seconds later, Anderson heard the jets fire again. _Probably headed on a flanking maneuver …ooh, unobservant target._ He took one shot, felling a turian soldier, then beat feet for another safe point.

The comm in his new armor crackled, sending purple lines across the HUD. Anderson frowned at that, _This is a standard infiltrator armor … isn't it?_ Then a familiar voice hummed over the communicator.

_"Attention Alliance soldiers, this is General Williams. The turians have launched a heavy vehicle assault on sector thirty-seven. I am sending a squad of Menelaus mobile armor in that direction, a squad of heavies and long-range support would be appreciated."_

Anderson shifted left, running to the southwest. Section thirty-seven was a residential area. Emphasis on _was_, … past tense. Now, it was a series of craters, collapsed walls, and burnt out shells of homes. Whatever it was turians had against buildings, they had certainly exhibited it here.

* * *

Harper

Harper ran, using the suit to enhance his own speed. Movement equaled life, he was alive not dead. Not like what had been burned into his brain. _Think tactically, don't dwell on the past until you're certain of having a future._ He tried thinking of other topics … a task that had recently become remarkably easier. A dead turian reminded him of something he'd been thinking a few days prior.

_So far, there has been no evidence of turian power armor_, he ruminated. _Why? Is it solely a human concept? To augment ourselves by artificial means?_ He started examining his own armor more thoroughly, _That Varia-class set would have worked nicely. I could have saved Ben from whatever that energy eruption was … Alliance personnel are too shortsighted to see the big picture._

He stopped on the third story of a former business building. He had a clear view of the district, and could see the turians advancing through the rubble. One of their tanks smashed through a wall, clearing a path for a steady flow of infantry.

A light-assault trooper blasted past Harper, rolling violently in mid-air, and rocketed to a collapsed wall. Several other similarly geared soldiers whooshed past, literally leapfrogging to new positions. As soon as one landed, another took off, keeping their positions fluid. One was hit by a lucky shot; the body fell almost straight down without an active hand on the controls.

Several turians poured covering fire at the remaining aerial soldiers. Another two ran forwards to recover the body. _Now I know turians can't have this kind of hardware. Turians wouldn't risk themselves for a human. They must want the armor._

Harper sighted in on the furthest turian, fired a five-pellet burst, and re-sighted. The nearer turian dove for cover, but chose poorly, shielding himself from the light assaults only. Harper lined up his crosshairs, marked the position, then sent it to the general information net. One of the jump troopers launched himself skywards and corkscrewed laterally until he could pull a bead on the cowering alien. The carbine needed only one burst.

An outraged roar emanated from the turian-held side, and a fusillade pinned the light-assault specialists in position. Harper knew that was bad. Light assaults tended to have lightweight armor by default, and their shields were equipped with fewer recharge capacitors than the average soldier.

The turians advanced again, this time leading with the tanks. Another human fell … to a sniper to Harpers' eye.

Harper stared intently at the other side. No one had the telltale long-rifle snipers carried. _Unless he's constantly folding it down? No_. If turians were anything like humans, they would carry their rifle fully extended on the battlefield; it was much faster that way.

He couldn't see anyone, which meant either his shot had been noticed, or the unseen shooter was very cautious. Whatever the case, the turians were crossing the chokepoint with impunity. While the light-assault were doing their best, they had to keep their heads down, recharging their shields.

Harper picked an officer-looking candidate, and marked him on the HUD. He kept searching, selecting other officers, or at least individuals in better looking armor. That was the only way it seemed. Turians all looked the same, mandibles, plate-skin, and a crest-like point at the back of their head … _what's the point of a head crest anyway? Is it for prestige?_

He kept selecting targets, letting the VI track them across the battlefield. When a dot approached one of the trapped soldiers, the target was usually under enough crossfire to be taken it down.

"_This is Sergeant Griffen of the 7th Light platoon, there's too many of them!"_ someone called, _"We need backup! Fast!"_

Harper identified another officer, and watched his movements for a moment. Once he had the pattern, he cuddled the rifle stock a little closer. Someone needed to take a hand. "Hang on boys, we have mechs on the way. I'll help you out as much as I can."

"_Who is this?"_ a strained voice demanded. _"Are you anywhere near us__?"_

"Name's Harper," he pulled a bead on a far target, feathering the trigger. "I'm a specialist your N7 hired."

"_A specialist? We have freakin' mercs here? Hallelujah!"_ said the first voice. Harper couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or not.

"_Can the chatter and shoot the birds!"_ responded the second voice. _"Harper, can you focus on the east flank? There's a sniper out there somewhere."_

Harper twisted, scanning the field in the indicated direction, "Checking, not seeing much, but I'll do what I can. Prep for cleared hostiles to your west."

Quickly he checked the targets ID'd earlier. Some of them were still within sight, prompting a smile. He squinted into the scope, selected his first target, and squeezed. He re-sighted and squeezed again … and again … and again. If the rifle hadn't needed to cool down so much, he could have eliminated many more than were available.

"_Many thanks Harper. I have a positive lock on your sniper, sending now."_

Harper had just enough time to see a new red dot appear on his HUD before the display faded to a static-jumbled line.

"Light Assault Seven?" he tried, "General? Anyone?"

He stopped, listening. Out beyond the former property line, a rumbling thunder crescendoed to an angry roar, like the monsters of old. He could still use his scope, the EMP didn't affect his optics at least; with it he could see a full battalion of turian heavy vehicles. The floating assault tanks were leading the charge, flying over low obstacles and firing short bursts at the pinned humans. Behind them, the six-wheeled monstrosities rolled through the debris, barely deterred by the larger pieces.

Harper went flat, squirming backwards behind the retaining wall. He was just in time, a snipers' round impacted against a steel support behind where he had been standing. A second shot punched through the wall above his head, penetrating the flooring.

_This isn't exactly the way I was intending to go_, he thought. _Although I suppose the Road of Good Intentions and all that_ …. Another shot tore through the sheetrock past his heels, then a burst of assault rifle fire shredded the wall somewhere above him. He could feel chunks landing on his back. Somewhere below, a human cried out, another life cut short. The sound infuriated him. _No, keep calm. Too many hormone-fueled idiots running the show … there's a sequence here somewhere, I know it._

His unnatural glowing eyes flickered. For a moment, he could see patterns through the static. Faint lines drew themselves between the turian soldiers and an attack vehicle near the rear of the advance, dying and coming to life randomly. Then he noticed another pattern, fainter lines that danced between the soldiers.

Harper turned. He could see similar lines between the human soldiers as well. However, those lines were more like stuttering bursts, fading out before they connected.

The strangeness of his vision brought the memories of what he'd seen in the turian General's cave to mind. _I wonder if this how They see it,_ he thought, _soul-less information, exchanged between meaningless units? Receiving knowledge without being seen?_ He cast his gaze skyward, _how far can I see?_

He strained his vision, searching the sky where he knew the _Olympus_ stations loomed. Faint lights streamed across his vision, dimly highlighting machines engaged in aerial combat. Just at the edge of his strange sight, a turian fighter spun in place, diving towards him. Harper could watch the strange readings flare around the alien craft, right up to the point where a ballistic round punched through the fighters' fuselage. For an instant, he could see every detail, the pilot bailing out, the shrapnel exploding outwards in a deadly spray … _Everything_.

It made his head hurt, reminiscent of the blast back in the cave with General Arterius. It was an almost sympathetic vibration … but to what he couldn't tell.

_I can see so clearly now_, he focused past the pain, looking back at the battlefield. Humans were retreating, the alien energy signatures advancing almost to the level of the building he occupied. He recalled what General Arterius had done and acted, treated Ben like a simple beast of burden after the explosion. _It doesn't matter if we win here, they'll just keep coming, send another fleet. They won't consider us to be real people, only animals._ He crawled sideways, edging to the drop-off behind the wall. _With what I know now, perhaps I could make some people listen. What's his name? That Doctor Pavenmeyer looked as if he could be reasoned with._ The turian sniper boomed again, and another light assault trooper fell.

Harper pushed himself, ignoring a searing pain in his leg and hung off the floors' edge. He dropped, landing in a roll, coming to a halt inside a clump of decorative bushes. The gunfire sound like distant artillery. Nothing was approaching from the left or right, and there was an admirable piece of cover just to one side: a wooden retaining wall with a hole blown through its center.

Back in the open, one of the turians stepped on a mine. It shredded through his armor like tissue paper. It was grim, but Harper had to smile slightly. Apparently, turian armor hadn't taken _all_ manners of explosives into account.

Once at the wall, he rested a few seconds, then started his slow scan. Turian reinforcements were rolling in from all directions, making it look as if the ground was moving. The entire scene reminded him of old war movie, showing battles between massive armies. The throbbing in his head grew more painful … _maybe I have a__concussion? There's less time than I'd thought_.

The sniper was out of sight, but there were now hundreds, _thousands_ of turians in visual range. Harper sighted, marking targets out of habit, then noticed his HUD again … it was … blinking as if it were at full power, but he hadn't started any systems … had he? _No, wait. It's responding to a data burst_ ….

Overhead, gunships with the latest in Power Armor technology roared to the overrun battlefield. They carried bulky payloads. With his enhanced vision, Harper could make them out to be _Menelaus_ mechs. They dropped from their carriers, falling over thirty feet. Like their _Iapetus_ cousins, they had massive armor plates covering their flanks. Unlike their larger cousins, however, the _Menelaus_ mech had higher speed capabilities, and mini-guns on both limbs.

The earth shuddered under their weight as they landed, some of them beginning to open fire as they fell. Their mini-guns blazed across the field, effectively strafing the turian positions with a punishing fusillade.

The turians answered the mech drop with an artillery volley. The turian heavy assault vehicles belched flames, matching the mini-guns' bullet spray with rounds weighing five kilograms.

Harper watched the mechs stagger under the attack; one was decapitated neatly, just as its threat algorithm caused it to start ducking. _Where are the heavies? Power armor can't withstand vehicle assault without support._

* * *

Admiral Octan

Octan relaxed in his cabin, watching the turian army advance. It was the first break he'd taken in some time.

They had made excellent time outside the city, barring a few locations. _These humans could make admirable shock troops for the batarians, it's no wonder they didn't want anyone to know about them._

A reading chirped, signaling an update. He turned, flicking his left mandible in anticipation. The screen was connected to the leading Mechanized Assault division, which was making the best inroads to the half-destroyed _neka_ mound (2) the humans called home. _Hopefully, they're at the control center so we can end this charade and go home._ The warning lights blinked up at him, like the glowing eyes of a _daemon_.

_What?_

He checked the results of his screen again. _The second platoon is reporting heavy resistance, well above predicted levels. The Fifth heavy mechanized division is stalled out, facing those robots … the thirty-third infantry can't make progress on its_ … "Lieutenant!"

His bellow must have been heard through three decks. He could hear military boots pounding on the deck, rushing to his cabin.

His executive officer burst into the room, sidearm in one hand. "Yes, Sir?"

Octan gestured at the display, "We have over seventy _thousand_ of the Hierarchy's finest groundside." He glared at the younger turian, "They have been tasked with the sole purpose of putting down a species so _primitive_, they can't understand the simple concept of leaving batarians alone. I want to know _why_ this is happening, and _how_ to reverse the trend."

The lieutenant snapped off a salute, re-holstered his pistol, and closed the door.

Seconds later, the comm lit up. Octan nearly smashed the interface in his haste, "Admiral Octan here. Tell me _what_ the problem is, or by all that's of the Hierarchy, I will see you charged with criminal neglect!"

The turian in the reciprocating screen snarled at him. _"I am General Ikandimus. Admiral, if you believe you can do any better down here, you're welcome to leave your safe armchair and take over!" _

Octan felt his mandibles stiffen, "I am your superior officer, and will be spoken to with the respect my rank merits," he growled.

The ground commander snorted, _"Talk all you like about rank, but I am the commanding General dirtside, and that makes us equal during battle. Now either get me some accurate data, or let me fight this war!"_

"_Accurate_ data?" Octan canted his head, "What do you mean?"

_"I mean my troops were prepared for a standard shock-and-awe, that's what! These humans are adapting to the textbook strategies _far_ faster than normal. I sent a triple-prong assault on their western flank, and the humans plastered it with a saturation artillery strike. When I sent in the air units to take out the artillery, it was gone!"_

"Orbital bombardment probably took them out," Octan flipped a talon, "while I see you've been having … difficulties …" it was difficult, but he kept the sneer out of his voice, "you outnumber them, and have the best weapons the Turian Hierarchy can afford. They are only primitives. We will not be defeated."

Ikandimus twitched irritably, _"Youngster, you don't understand. When you face the asari, you keep the flanks tight and the center moving forwards. When you go after krogan, you keep attacking their flanks and focus the heavy weapons forward. When you fight pirates, destroy their base and burn their resources. These humans are aliens but they fight like turians!_"

Octan scoffed, sub-harmonics thrumming contempt. "Then fight as if they were turians! We have contingencies for every species in the galaxy, _especially_ our own. Do you expect me to believe there is nothing in the texts? It sounds as if they're acting like turians with asari leaders. Think of them that way and get the job done."

_"That's easy for you to say, safe up there in your dreadnought. Why haven't you bombarded their city strongpoints, eh? Where's the superior Turian hardware there?"_ Ikandimus was visibly furious, mandibles clamped tightly to his face.

Octan forced his mandibles to settle, "The stations have more engines than we'd anticipated. The fleet we have now can't punch through their shields. We have to starve them into submission."

Ikandimus' voice dropped, harmonics humming accusingly, _"The rest of your fleet is within two Relays of here, and you've left them sharpening their talons for fifteen seskas? No station can take hits from four dreadnoughts and survive. What are you playing at … Admiral?"_

The frustration of the situation almost overwhelmed Octan's self-control. "You know I can't bring in the fleet without sending an active duty report!" The words tasted bitter, "As soon more than three dreadnoughts come through _any_ Relay, I have to notify Hierarchy Command that we have a First Contact situation. If _that_ happens, we lose any chance of keeping this quiet, _as per our orders_, and you know it!"

The picture blurred, then cleared again. _"Spare me the excuses Admiral. We're blind down here, and making no progress. Unless you can give us cover, it's going to be a long, bloody fight that's what!"_

Octan sighed. "I'll do what I can. There's more debris here we can knock down, see if we can hit behind their front lines."

_"You do that. Meanwhile, I'll … Spirits! Cover! Cover!"_

The connection cut out. Octan stared at the device, humming in exasperation.

* * *

Anderson

The _Menelaus_ mechs (3) were holding firm, but they didn't have the heavy weapons needed to bring down a tank. Anderson could see proof of that where two of the mechs had been downed by turian fire, but he could also see that the turian advance had been stopped in its tracks.

He'd run almost a mile out of his way, avoiding turian scouts the entire way. Without the capabilities of his _NightStalker_ gear, he'd been forced to favor his legs more than usual. _I'll have to advise the ICT board to look into field repairs. Swapping armor sets in the middle of a fight is a bad idea._

He pushed slightly closer to the concrete, formerly someone's deck. He'd evaluated it as a good position. It had clear sightlines across the entire battlefield, and enough chunks of debris to offer excellent cover. Small decorative plants waved stiffly, long tears shredding their former glory. Their placement indicated that the wall had been a place of relaxation. Now … it was a death trap.

A rasp caught his attention. He followed the sound to a turian marksman, crawling just over his head. He appeared to be drawing a bead on one of the Light Assault troopers. Anderson waited a few seconds, letting the turian focus on his target, _sorry soldier, whomever you are_, then slapped the barrel upwards, forcing the stock back. The turian gasped and flailed to recover. Anderson used both hands to heave the rifle back towards himself. The turian, off balance, tumbled off the perch and onto Andersons' knife.

_They bleed blue_, he noted absently, _how many have I killed, and haven't realized that?_

He changed his focus to the dead soldiers' gun. The rifle was impressive in design, efficiently made with few of the moving surfaces exposed. He knew the Alliance was looking into designing weapons similar to what the quarians had, but this would help. Quietly, he buried the rifle, covering it with the turians' body, then marked the location on his HUD's map function.

The HUD blinked acknowledgement, then vanished, making a fizzing noise. _What the … EMP? Here?_ Anderson elbow-crawled to another vantage point, feeling the ground shake as the titans battled it out on either side of the field. The tanks, after an initially successful fusillade, were unable to push the Jammers' out of cover. The _Menelaus_ mechs in turn were unable to damage the turian vehicles, but were more than capable of repelling the hundreds of infantry trying to make their way across.

The tanks seemed to reach an accord, moving forward carefully, and picking out routes diverging around the mechs. _Ah. That's the reason for the EMP. They're flanking, trying to slow down the mechs.. Come on, come on, where are the heavies?_

As if in answer to prayer, he heard a rhythmic pounding. _Those aren't the heavy marines_ ….

At the edge of his vision angling from the center of town, he could see a massive figure striding over the rubble. It was easily two stories tall with block-shaped shoulders, and arms too long for its height. Like cartoons he'd seen of cavemen. The faint cheers from the pinned soldiers reached him.

The giant paused, arms coming up.

A half-dozen turian tanks focused fire, launching an intense salvo at the machine. Anderson felt the ground shake under their thunder, could almost see the rounds blast across the field. The mech, a retooled _Epimetheus_ (4) if he was any judge, took the shells head on. Coruscating blue circles erupted around the hits, staggering the monster. The tanks rolled forwards, pressing their attack. Each barrage staggered the _Epimetheus_ further from the front line.

The giant machine gave an angry electronic bellow, raising its arms higher. Almost as in response, another pair of the monster machines stomped out of the concealing dust cloud, joining their brother. The first mech lowered its head, keeping its arms clear as it walked, clearing room for its newly arrived support. The three of them formed a loose triangle, shaking the earth like gods of war.

The tanks continued firing, rolling closer. Anderson could see several had already bypassed the _Menelaus_ positions. One of the turian vehicles had stopped to pepper a quartet of jump troops with what looked like a heavy turret. A few were taking shots at the smaller mechs, scoring hits. Another mech went down, hulled through the leg this time.

Anderson almost missed the _Epimetheus_ mech's first salvo. These mechs were dedicated support; artillery units designed to hit targets over a hundred miles distant. _This kind of range is like sandblasting a soup cracker. Why did they wait so long?_

Brief bursts of light flared at the metal arm-tips. Their shells flashed across the field and obliterated the tank shields, crushing through the armor in sledgehammer blows. Anderson could hear metal screaming … but could also feel a vibration that had nothing to do with the metal titans.

He paused, trying to read more out of the sensation. _Wait a minute, the only times I've seen that much vibration was on maneuvers – with troop transports._ Anderson tucked into as small a ball as he could manage in his armor, pressing against the concrete. Small pieces of gravel bounced off his hardsuit as the shaking intensified. The roar became audible, a mechanical thrum that he could feel at the base of his skull.

Six-wheeled turian vehicles poured over the ridge, charging the three _Epimetheus_ mechs. The humanoid power armor began backpedaling, opening fire with their shoulder-mounted rockets for the first time.

Turian shields sparked, vanishing under the fire from the mechs, but there were far more tanks than mechs. The tanks pushed forwards, sending volleys of high-velocity rounds into the walking death machines.

* * *

Williams

The red dots focused on the blue defense forces, updated as often as the hovering battle stations could get a lock. _Turians may have set up a better jammer, but they still can't block old fashioned eyeballs._

The occasional red dot vanished from his screen, sometimes due to human weapons, sometimes because a cloud got in the way. The dots were spreading out, encircling the entire western half of the city in geometric patterns. _Whatever else you can say about the turians, they know how to fight_, Williams thought grudgingly. _They've destroyed my city, run roughshod all around the borders, and threaten my airspace. If those stations weren't there_ …. He didn't want to finish the thought.

"Sir, Lieutenant Anderson is asking for you," an aide held out a landline communicator.

Williams took the object like a lifeline. Relief made him almost shout into the receiver, "Good to hear you're alive Anderson. What do you have for me?"

Faint buzzing fell in and out of the line, then the Lieutenants' voice cut through, "… _leaving sector thirty-seven … -eding to twenty-seven … like the turians are trying to push the center … flattening anything taller than a berm out here._"

"Understood," Williams checked his map, Anderson had to be approaching the main base as well. "Get to the base as soon as you can, pass that along. I want everyone either underground or in the base inside of thirty minutes, do you understand me?"

The voice came back somewhat strained, "Understood, General … _Jammers took off … as many they could carry … should be arriving soon. What … heavy marines?"_

Williams checked the map, "They'll have enough time to get back. Twenty-nine minutes, Lieutenant. Williams out.

He closed the connection and scowled at the map. The red dots were much closer than they had before, and the blue dots were getting pinched off. _Classic flanking maneuver … looks like they're leapfrogging single fire teams across the town, then connecting the beach heads with heavy vehicles._ He turned back to the public address system. "Get those _Iapetus_ mechs out from hiding, bombers are incoming. Cover the infantry when they get close enough. Twenty minutes people!

He checked his controls again. No general had done what he was about to do. "Get me confirmation with the battle stations. Tell them Operation _Ferous Nimbus_ is a go."

* * *

Admiral Octan

Turian Dreadnought _Attalan_

Octan hummed in satisfaction. The ships' atmosphere smelled fresh, and the lights gave off just a tad more warmth than they had before. Of course, it could have been his imagination, but he even thought he'd seen a trim lieutenant eyeing his crest before getting back to her work. Everything was better with a successful operation. The assault was ||finally|| pushing the humans into their own nest, something that should have happened over three weeks ago.

_So soon?_ The paranoid streak of his mind whispered warnings. _Why would they collapse so quickly, after holding out this long?_

The map clicked and whirred under his gaze, _Humans have been proving themselves a more than adequate foe … and they are outnumbered by over twenty thousand here_. He refocused the map to highlight the main command center, now the tallest building on the planet. _Unless their populace is also military? No, surveillance has always shown the same faces, so no new people have been coming up. A bit of a pity the main colony went underground before we could pacify them, but once the soldiers are defeated … they could make an incredible client race._

A faint growl rumbled angrily from the middle of his chest. _I wouldn't leave a krogan to the batarians mercy, let alone a newly discovered species. Best thing for all concerned is to defeat these humans quickly, then secure them from the batarians._

He glared at the batarian vessels hovering on another monitor. Having turian fighters swarming around the … allied … vessels spoke volumes. The direction the batarian ships were pointing was equally telling; he'd been forced to send marines to take over the ships. When the batarians had heard the turians weren't going to allow them to take prisoners, they'd attempted to launch an orbital bombardment. Fortunately, Octan had seen it coming, and had frigates in position well in advance. _No one, not even during a wartime emergency, will launch an attack without my permission_. The satisfied hum turning deeper, more menacing.

"Sir!" Unexpected footsteps clanked behind him, _military boots, batarian assassin?_

Octan whipped his head around, almost scaring a turian specialist out of five cycles growth. "What is it?" he growled.

The specialist clicked a mandible, "Ah, General Ikandimus wanted to let you know he should have the main city pacified within the day. He, ah, also wanted you to know it's been a less efficient manner than he would have wanted."

A buzzing noise caught their attention. Octan glanced back at his map; symbols around the battlestation were flashing. "What's going on?"

One of the attendants worked her talons through the haptics, "Sir, it's not us!"

The admiral stalked closer, "What's not us? What is it?"

The attendant paused. He could hear the tremor in her harmonics, trembling in the upper registers. "Sir, it's the stations. They're … they're bombarding their own city!

* * *

_Kalar Assault Vehicle_: medium class heavy armor; designed to bring munitions to the front lines and, in case of emergency, evacuate large numbers of personnel. The armor is thick enough to withstand 24 hours of constant small-arms fire, and provides a significant amount of resistance to heavy weapons fire.

_Neka_ mound: an arthropod dwelling, dug from the earth as a shield against the winds of Palaven. Neka have large pincers, but no venom, unlike the Aphaen and Solen varieties. The Neka were used by primitive cultures as make-shift sutures, their mandibles would clench together even after death.

_Menelaus_ mech: power armor designed as anti-personnel frames. The Menelaus suit was named after an ancient Greek, whom with his brother Agamemnon, raised an army of over a thousand ships to regain his wife.

The _Menelaus_ armor carries a pair of rotary heavy machine guns, and a medium-yield grenade launcher. While designed primarily as anti-personnel rapid-response, the armor is also equipped with high-grade shields, built for deflecting small-arms fire. The shields also contain defensive measures for close-quarters combat, running a charge through their covering in case of physical contact.

Like all Power Armors, the _Menelaus_ enhances the capabilities of its wearer. Its top speed varies on the user, but the fastest recorded sprint clocked in at 72 mph. The onboard systems, significantly improved by the quarian technical expertise, provide the wearer with a large number of electronic countermeasures. This has led the Alliance Marine corps to nickname the unit "Jilted Jammers," acknowledging the name and traits.

_Epimetheus mech_: Technically classified as Offensive Support Power Armor. Their design however, has been argued to be the initial basis for a new style of combat. Unlike the Menelaus Power Armors, the Epimetheus mechs are able to completely contain a human in its torso region, serving as full-body protection. One Epimetheus mech costs more to manufacture than five Menelaus units because of both its size, and the Element Zero power core.

The _Epimetheus_ mech is designed primarily for artillery, although it can be refitted for anti-air duties. After the implementation of the Iapetus mech however, the Epimetheus has been relegated to base-support roles, especially with its unusually high power-output capabilities.

Naming the _Epimetheus_ mech was originally a joke by its developers. Following the trend made by the _Iapetus_ and _Menelaus_ mechs, the engineers used an ancient greek name to describe the new unit as being a "bringer of gifts to far places," and that it "created a network for close support." The name arose from a Greek titan of the same name who gave gifts to all the animals, and was made famous in the epic Pandora's Box legend.

* * *

**A/N: Just to let you know, I am _not_ leaving out the Mako or its predecessor, the Grizzly. Nor did I forget about their existence while writing this segment ... yeah. I'll stick with that story for now ;)**

**So, almost done with Shanxi, but I can promise 1 more chapter from where this one came.**

**I would like to thank NightStride for his far-ranging explorations in that wondrous land of Grammar. His own fic is well worth a read, if you have time!**

**Also on the thanks list is Raw666, Gyre, and Lachdannen. Thanks for the suggestions guys!**

**For future reading, if you are interested in well-written works, I would point out Lachdannen's "Mass Displacement," and CN7's "Chronicles of a Hellhound." Both draw in the reader like professionals :)**

**Questions, comments or requests? Review or PM! I save every Review, and reply to every PM. *rereads last sentence* Or at least I try to, I am not perfect by any means.**

_**Excelsior**_


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